


Adapto Sapiens I: Takara

by Kelly Shiragami (OptimusNuva)



Series: Adapto Sapiens [1]
Category: G.I. Joe - All Media Types, Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate History, Easter Eggs, Gen, Historical References, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Urban Wasteland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-01 08:09:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 42,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20811866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OptimusNuva/pseuds/Kelly%20Shiragami
Summary: The year is 1983. Japan is a quarantined wasteland overrun by shapeshifting aliens. A clairvoyant woman, five otherworldly soldiers, a downed satellite and an American black ops squadron all converge as the world is changed forever. Partially inspired by the real-world history of the Transformers. Expect varying levels of violence, and brief profanity.





	1. Five Years

**Author's Note:**

> For the best experience, I'd recommend David Bowie's song "Five Years", which so happens to be perfect for the prologue, and which I blared on a loop as I wrote it. Sickly sweet 70s rock waltz depicting exactly what I was writing AND taking place over the same amount of time? Heck yes!
> 
> Enjoy! :-{ )

_Begin with a drum beat. 3/4 with a bit of a swing or hop, looping every four measures. David wanted something that encapsulates hopelessness, and you can hear it echoing in your skull, never stopping. It'll stalk your background thoughts, and once you hear it you're haunted. You can see city streets and people falling to their deaths in slow motion, and oscillating white lights that dance flowers on your eyes. Focus enough and you'll feel cold, and dark, and alone._

_Focus a bit more. You might see smoggy clouds, and impossibly tall towers that move with the motion of their world. Fire. Throngs of the screaming and the bereaved, the decadent and those getting there. Emotions without feeling. Newfound gluttony and greed with the intent of forgetting one's cares. People shouting themselves to tears, and proclaiming the end is nigh. That's what happened in the years before the end._

* * *

* * *

The year was estimated 1978, although some say it only really began in '83. Either way, it doesn't matter, because five years means much in a megaannum, does it? Nope.

The month is June, a 30-day month and the sixth of twelve. Summer is warming up to be lively, and in all time zones heat was rising.

And the place is Japan, that little island east of the greater Asia. Busy, crowded cities and people going about their lives; poor, rich, young, old, tall, short, fat, skinny, nobodies, somebodies. All living in the world they knew was true, and most without concern for the greater concern beyond their little worlds. Let the aliens come to them.

And, oh, they were happy to oblige.

The first one came in this year, or at least the first to be seen. A massive fireball that hurled across the planet, flashy and bold, and landed in some unnamed city. Surprisingly, its crater was not the massive dimple of death and wreckage, but a rather simple few cars crushed and a handful of flames. There was only one injury: shrapnel cuts sustained by an unsuspecting commuter who hadn't seen the monster from the heavens. Swamped with onlookers clamoring to see what the sky and space beyond had gifted them, the smoke cleared and its contents revealed: a strange-looking car, appearing to have...

...arms?...

...and a...head?...?

And anyone who knew what to look for would see it suddenly going slack in the slightest. It was dead now, no danger left in it. That part's up to you now.

One of the onlookers, the curious and somewhat eccentric Boto Booken, observed quietly as others gawked or fell over their feet running for anywhere. Instead she studied it carefully, and with an intensity she thought impossible, smiling all the while. Two arms and a head fell together at a torso, all mangled but far from unrecognizable. The bottom half seemed to be the front end of a car she'd seen somewhere before, and decided that anyone would call it some new and hideous work of hellish art. Her first thought was of some toy she'd seen in some store, or perhaps an authentic alien unlike the scaly insect wraiths depicted in most fictions, or the gigantic Kaiju. She saw the head drop to one side, perhaps facing her, perhaps away, and saw what looked like two yellow spikes jutting from a square silver skull.

Later that afternoon she would be interviewed by policemen and some more anonymous interrogators in radiation gear. Judging by the broadness of their questions, they knew as little as her if not less. They told her she was able to return home, and she did, to the relief of a worried husband and infant daughter. They'd also told her to contact them if she could remember anything else, and that the press would be ordered to stay away from them.

Later that night, ravenous news broadcasters all over the world were getting their scoops. In America, some broad-shouldered anchorman was delivering the news that a yellow 1977 Lamborghini Countach with arms and rocket-shaped eyes (yes, those were been eyes) had made its home on the streets of urban Japan. Some scientist was also being interviewed as to the possible origins of the thing. Judging by his speech, he had no clue either. In fact, any casual viewer could say he was much more likely arguing that what happened was simply impossible. In the UK, another reporter was giving the thing a name: Cosmo Countach. It was quite catchy, and eventually other reporters followed suit.

Time passed. Booken would return to visit the crash site the next morning to find it exactly as it had been twenty-four hours prior. She'd return there in the future, and while she knew her friends and relatives could never understand that excitement she'd felt, she figured they'd at least act inquisitively. And they did. Her uncle scoffed and told her it was a bit silly to ponder this. For all he knew, she was going crazy, and so was everyone else.

The news around the world suddenly cried BREAKTHROUGH! A top-secret project to dissect the icon found inside it authentic car parts integrated with absurdly advanced servomotors, decades ahead of the world's specialists in ever-sharpening the cutting edge. This thing was not of this world, but it knew it wanted to blend in. Until further notice, NO application of their findings were to be made, and the agreement of mutual silence between the witnesses and the press was to be honored. No interviews.

Beyond the privilege of the civilians of any nation to know, the Cold War was beginning to lose steam. An enemy disguised as an everyday thing used by everyone was a new and frightening idea, and both sides knew better than not to be transparent. Imagine a nuke that could disguise itself as a toaster, and you'd call off a pretty feud. "Hey, we're not alone, so make yourselves presentable for the visitors and stop fighting amongst yourselves." The alien idealism of communism felt like the comforts of the American home when standing next to a true extraterrestrial threat, and the Second World found themselves singing the same tune to their capitalist rivals. But more to the public's viewing were the crazies on every corner, waving cardboard signs of cars sprouting arms and legs. "They drive among us," and "Aliens are wheel," were sure to be written somewhere in menacing red font.

Within days, the Cold War was officially put on hold, and the world breathed a shaky sigh. Now the crazies were getting religious, proclaiming the Antichrist was coming, or whatever other malignant deity. New religions were calling this Cosmo Countach character a sign of their valid beliefs, and lifted the Biblical idea of the end being near. Even in the countries of the more Eastern beliefs, the sign-wavers were already making themselves known and at home. Booken's uncle came to her door in the dead of night, drenched in sweat and carrying his own sign on poster board. He began crying hysterically, saying he was sorry to have ever doubted her, although even she wasn't sure what he was trying to say.

That night she had a nightmare of getting into the backseat of a car, and it took off without a driver. She tried to take control, but the wheel kept smacking her hand back. Inside the car some unseen light somewhere was flashing the color of pure alarm. Suddenly its orientation did a literal 180 as it charged head-on into the wall that was supposed to be the street. Not her strangest or most vivid dream, but it rankled her.

And it seems this pandemonium would die down within two years or so. There would always be someone crying the apocalypse, but the trend of fearing the fallen robot had folded on itself like some origami toy. Or perhaps one of the many figures depicting some sort of full metamorphosis with a cry of "Henshin!"

* * *

* * *

The year is now 1982. Lamborghini sales have long since skyrocketed, and by popular demand that year's model was made with a theme in mind: the 1982 Cosmic Countach, available in yellow, red, blue and white. Much served to Booken's memory, Cosmo Countach also became a toy, manufactured by a company that packed a short animated film into every toy. Both the car and the toy were international hits. And as for the cartoon, it was rife with animation errors and self-contradicting continuity, but there was talk that a movie was already in the works. Critics of all kinds were calling the visitor's story "the next epic to rival Homer, to be passed through generations and retold each time'. Such a unique storytelling opportunity was hard to come by.

There was a sort of degradation that Booken saw that year. Tourists were now loitering in the streets, wearing T-shirts of the ever-inescapable car-man. Soviet, American, British, German, no longer coming to proclaim the fall and penalties of man, but waving cameras and declaring their obnoxious obsessions. She felt a bit like they were missing the point of being interested at all, although no words could ever describe why. Little Aika, now five, was proving herself stubborn, only now really talking to others. She was also playing with one of Cosmo Countach's friends, Rocket Robo, her personal favorite. Booken felt uncomfortable whenever the thing was in the room, and fundamentally wrong, although she appeared to have some fun with it. _My child too. Will she grow up to be another mindless tourist?_ She'd keep worrying about that for the rest of her life.

She'd never forgotten the incident, either, nor her uncle's fear; he was one of the true believers, even now proclaiming that punishment was to be handed out a hundredfold for our abuse of our neighbors and our beloved little blue planet. As with the Apollo program some twenty years prior, statisticians would see a spike in environmental activism. That American president Ronald Reagan was beginning to "look forward", recognizing that interaction with extraterrestrials would require its own rules and regulations, and gathered with Yuri Andropov, Margaret Thatcher and others to formulate the Earth Interplanetary Accords. The signing of the event was televised and told later to be watched by a measly 300 million viewers. Among them were Booken and her husband Hiroyuki, and some budding conspiracy theorists she was aware of having some familial relation to. At this point the car from the clouds was old news, and this political move at least six months behind the curve. There were more pressing matters demanding immediate attention. Again, let's see the aliens before readying ourselves for their arrival. Let's worry about illegal border crossings, murder statistics, the price of gas.

Now she started seeing a change in her husband. The poor man was beginning to act more cautious and concerned, not just as a parent but in general. He was reading more nonfiction than was the norm, and his fiction was from those authors foreseeing some shocking Armageddon. He worked as a radio operator, and at home he'd spend time tinkering with his equipment. He'd sometimes get Aika to join him, which was a good sign for him as a father, but there was a sense of futility as it seemed to never be enough. No matter what, it'd never be enough... and she'd catch and scold herself for thinking like this.

The nightmare became recurrent, and varying each time. The car would change colors, and she listed each one. The road was last night an icy silver plate going through a wash of blanketing rain, tonight a fiery and torn bridge viewed in the most visceral shades of crimson and purple imaginable. Sometimes she'd wake with one last-laugh imagine dancing in her head: a pair of red eyes, with it an accompanying horns. The Devil, come to reap the world. She was spending far too much time listening to her uncle.

But what if it meant something? She'd heard of clairvoyants who could see and interpret dreams, and of course the much milder cases of deja vu. Some of the things seen in dreams may never be interpreted and become lost, but you could also look in a certain general direction the next day and mutter "that looks familiar, where have I seen you before?" If these dreams really were of something that would come to pass, she should probably be afraid, and not just afraid but totally terrified.

The world was much more unified and "together" as they'd say, but there was always some outlier being condemned or some crisis beyond their control. International news daily declared droughts, or some scandal, or some dictator quelling an uprising. The Cold War was doing its warm-ups again, and all those nuclear warheads were getting bored. Maybe the aliens' plan had been to let them destroy _themselves._ That was seeming to be easy enough to do.

Her uncle suffered a mental breakdown, and a dramatic one. He ran into the street wearing only his thick spectacles, screaming incoherently and occasionally saying at normal volume that Gojira drove on the wrong side of the road. A car narrowly avoided hitting him as he laid down and began screaming and bawling in the streets, naked and probably feeling very alone. As police arrived he suffered a heart attack for the history books, and an arrhythmia took him within five minutes of stepping out his door. The car that nearly rushed his death by four minutes was a new blue Lamborghini. Good thing he missed, because cleaning out blood would've been a nightmare, even if the colors were quite complimentary. Booken often found herself wondering about other things, such as how sick a human being could be without being called 'psychotic'. Was turning a possible world-ending threat into a children's toy considered 'psychotic', or was it just some surreal comedy she couldn't grasp? How about her uncle evolving into his polar opposite and dying a broken, crazed mess?

In the midst of all this, something else just had to go and happen.

There was another one. This one was what was sure to set things off. Another one of _them_, this time with a more prolific entry and harsher landing, orbited the Earth four times before crash-landing in the Pacific with the force necessary for an audible boom from the nearby Japan. Water spouted for miles in all directions, but was harmless. No tsunamis allowed due to foreign objects! It came to rest in the water and was picked up by the exploratory crew. Another, newer Countach, made from the Lamborghini Cosmic model. It was yellow, and had definitive legs this time too.

At the time of its landing, Booken was sleeping peacefully, and dreaming of falling over. Her legs were crushed and locked in that useless form, and she wasn't long for this world. But her eyes still worked, although she thought they felt cold. She looked upward towards the sky and saw smoke striping the clear blue sky. Her neck lost all strength and lolled to one side. She saw people running, and they seemed small. But not the one who stayed.

Not Boto Booken.

* * *

* * *

Some say it only really began here, but you can see that's a lie worthy of the world. Now the year has turned to 1983, and already the world is anxious and scared. This second visitor wasn't as unanimous in its naming. To some it kept the surname and became Crash Countach; to others its flashy, fiery orbit earned it the name Sunstreaker; most people agreed on Sunstreaker in time, but the news preferred Crash Countach for association purposes.

Now all those toys, and that continuity-less fiction? Recalled, censored, even fully outlawed in America of all places. So much for the biggest storytelling phenomenon since _The Odyssey_. The tourists didn't come anymore, but a few familiar faces hung around and proclaimed once again that God had given them His last chance, and it hadn't been enough. Graffiti and vandalism were beginning to claim what once were the proudly clean city streets.

President Reagan gave an address for the world, completely devoid of any of his signature jokes. The cameraman escorted out for wearing a T-shirt depicting a four-legged car became something of an incident, but still the Commander in Chief continued. The gist was simple, and unlike the signing of the Earth Interplanetary Accords, this was considered to be of importance. Its basic premise was as follows: "Twice now we have been subject to unannounced guests, and now they are a serious threat. We have no information on either one, except they are capable of more than we can imagine, and we must move forward as one or face the possibility of extinction." Booken observed her husband as he watched, and she could see that something was off in him. Something was close to snapping, if not snipped already. Even little Aika could likely feel the newfound tension. Once she'd heard the girl sobbing in her room, but no matter how cold it may have seemed she figured it was better not to try comforting her for it, especially as she could barely comfort herself.

Booken doubted anyone had any idea how to 'move forward to avoid extinction'. They're aliens beyond our wildest conceptions, and these two space cars, be they vehicles or bodies or something else entirely, are only proof. They might be able to perform herculean feats of defeat, catching and harmlessly detonating nuclear warheads in their hands, or melting any bullets that approached them with a mere thought. She again realized she was right whenever she met someone in passing. She may have been no judge of character, but they didn't care anymore, not one. First they began caring more than ever before, and the second time everything would spring back in a wave of fatal apathy. Eventually she'd see it in the city itself. Meaningless graffiti, litter, filthy loiterers, and probably worse in other parts of the world. The crazies weren't being shy anymore, and whenever she passed to and from her apartment anyone holding a sign and sometimes those without would begin yelling. She didn't want to get used to it.

The nightmare wasn't even a nightmare anymore. Now she would sit calmly in a stationary car, safe from the fire and brimstone as everyone outside frolicked madly. Then she realized she was alone in the car, and was screaming to get out. She was trying to kick the passenger door open when she saw another car materialize to accelerate and ram her. The implication was blatantly obvious to her, and she would prove herself a hypocrite by wishing it wasn't. That morning she went straight to where Aika slept and hugged her madly, freely admitting that she was crying and that she didn't want to stop.

There was some superficial relief when the newly-organized Earth Alliance announced that examination of the two cars from outer space had begun in a joint project between the biggest nations in the world. Actually, it had been underway for weeks now, but "so far," President Reagan declared, "I will not lie, the examination hasn't yielded much." Hiroyuki was spending more time with her, not reading or tinkering, but just wanting to be around she and Aika. He asked about her feelings more often, which was not only startling but a bit annoying. Scarier still was what the future would hold for Aika. She often wondered if they'd ever live to see her grow up, or if she'd ever even get the chance. This didn't warrant tears, but it was just another thing to scold herself for thinking about too much.

Plenty incidents in the news. In Mexico City, one of those aforementioned crazies had formed a terrorist group and started riots in the streets, and it was spreading to the US border states. In Italy, a Cosmic Countach driver mowed down a parade before throwing herself onto its yellow hood, legs folded up and arms sprawled out in imitation, ready to be detained. A pair of horns had been scratched onto the driver-side door. The news said this was likely connected to Satanism, but even someone who'd never heard of the Devil would see this was a stretch in a scramble for answers.

Aika was now learning evacuation points for various disasters, from the highest point of land to the lowest point of land, the airport, the ocean. Sirens were installed on every street corner, and various audio tests were done exactly every one-hundred minutes, drowning out all other noise for anywhere between the spans of ten seconds and ten minutes. Pamphlets were also handed out to the adults, and they detailed what the children would not know: women and children first, and only once those were accounted for would the men be allowed to board. It made no sense, but should disaster arise preparations should be made in advance. The elderly and disabled were the lowest priority. Booken thought about how likely it was to happen, and found herself laughing. They'd likely all be dead before any of these contingencies were activated. And she might've been the only one in Japan who read it.

She started playing a game with herself, imaging scenarios of what the crashed cars were and how they would besiege the planet. They could be near-dead lumps of flesh in shapeshifting suits of armor, or perhaps remote-controlled weapons which laid bare whole universes in full force and moved on within some impossibly infinitesimal span of time. Some unsuspecting universe reduced to smolder and rubble within a blink of an eye. Some new form of life impossible to comprehend, not alive on its own nor part of a symbiosis, merely some entity unassociable to anything humans knew. Or perhaps, simply some grand government conspiracy to force society to fold in on itself in fear, reducing the population to a less worrisome number. Simple, just drop some lumps of metal and let the world tear itself to bits!

Now her husband abandoned his radio work at home, and he was back to reading science fiction religiously. She'd stopped reading it entirely. Once she'd walked in on him reading aloud with Aika, and followed along. It was _War of the Worlds_, the classic story of Martians invading Earth. She wondered if that would be illegal now. The Martians walked around in tripods, not cars, but sometimes it seemed there would be no difference.

Finally, he took her aside one day before bed, to ask her what she thought about all of this, an extension of his behavior before but now more express. She was shocked, not only because he'd asked, but because she suddenly found herself without any thought beyond "Why does it matter?" It frustrated her, and in response she decided to ask him what he thought about it all. Obviously a bit prepared, he said he was afraid for her and Aika, and that he was scared for society as a whole. There would be no going back to the way things were before, and humanity might forever watch the skies for nothing. They didn't say anything more that night. She had another nightmare, but this time she had no reaction at all. No fear, no wonder, no curiosity, just a sickening calm. _Dead?_

The very next day, on a hot and few-clouded June day, things came full-circle. And the power went out.

* * *

* * *

There was an astounding unity to it. One big, lonely hum, descending in pitch exactly as everyone imagined it never would as every light and TV and radio suddenly suffocated. Across the entire island of Japan, which none would know until later. This wasn't a problem. Backup generators would restore essential electricity, and no one minded using handheld light sources. But even stranger was the fact that all motorized vehicles had stopped too. Not that anything was damaged, they simply refused to do anything, and came to rest where it seemed they might rest forever. The backup generators were malfunctioning too, and all those sirens and lights? Useless! No radios, telephones, transport beyond bikes and feet, electric refrigeration, lightbulbs, nothing. With some fiddling they would return in time, but Earth's five years' waiting were up.

The people took it in stride, and managed to stroll about carefree in the streets, gathering outside for no real reason at all. Some people were probably daring the aliens or gods of all that is to strike them down where they stood.

It remained like this until nightfall and beyond, and it seemed no one knew or cared that the sky - now blackened grey - was beginning to take on hues. Booken had felt the urge to step outside, not for fresh air or a chance to stretch her legs, but perhaps merely to see the world without light, as the poets would say for years to come. Both her husband and child joined her, and together they became part of the patient mob awaiting the end.

First there was something resembling lightning, but perhaps afraid of touch, never reaching any point. A man sitting on the hood of his car had offered they join him, and Aika gave a little jump as the dry sky became turbulent. It wasn't a typical flash of white light, but a reddish-orange. And unlike a thunderclap, which shook the oxygen in the air and the lungs in your chest, this was more... distant. Not by any definite length that would arrive with delay, but something that would never fully arrive. It was a thin, metallic sound. No one panicked, just gawked.

There was something gathering up there, it seemed. A deep mass that no one could fully discern but everyone knew for what it was. They knew they needed to run, yet it was with the same sick fascination that paralyzed Booken before the car with arms, that everyone found themselves steadfast. Aika told Booken she was scared, and her husband told her that it was okay, and they should leave right now. He muttered something about checking the radio one final time and disappeared into the apartment complex. Overhead, the mass was growing, and everyone would say they found themselves unable to move, as if it held them there. Hysteria, placebo effect, mind over matter, call it what you will or say it wasn't exactly that, but the force shared between them was stubborn and had its way. It was starting to swirl now, and anyone who focused on what they heard instead of saw would've heard some sort of roaring, not of a living creature, but of a machine.

The sirens had a sense of humor and rhythm, and came to life in full force. Now their ears were open and that animal instinct to survive decided what choice to make: Flight, plain and simple. The sirens were stupid and all that sophisticated system of messages conveyed at 110 Decibels each - MUCH more between every siren in what seemed to be all existence - became a single message that was much easier to understand: run or die. Hiroyuki came out to get she and Aika, but Booken didn't want to move. At the moment, she wanted to see what it was, not run from it, or let it hide and fester like it had for this half decade. She wanted to see this, these things that had terrified her unlike anything had terrified or fascinated her before or since.

And oh, they were still happy to oblige.

They came to the outer coast, the harbor, the streets, moving inward in numbers that seemed to fluctuate, and stood up where they were. They would batter their chests and gather their momentum, consequences be damned. These were not the elegant sports cars and stealthy masters of disguise. Her dreams had told her exactly that, yet each needs their own validation. Her husband and young child yanked her back to reality across the hood of an old van. She fell to the ground, her own decision realized, and she saw her husband, that great and selfless man she wanted by her side till the end, scoop his daughter Aika up and begin to run with her in his arms. She was crying. Aika joined them in the pursuit of whatever form of safety was available. Some voice more conscious than pure instinct yet more clairvoyant than rational thought told her to take cover in the sweets shop some blocks away, and neither her proclaimed skeptic husband nor her fearfully imaginative child questioned her. There weren't many others left, and during the blackout few people had been driving, so they made decent time. They would awake the next afternoon to find the shop had mostly survived and everything around had burned.

But before they collapsed from exhaustion as one, before they ever saw the shop that was their rock, Booken heard and saw her answers. A boom unlike anything she had ever heard, whirring, crunching metal. Off the chrome of another car hood, against some harsh white light somewhere, she saw a band of murderous crimson.

She thought she heard someone yelling, in fluent Japanese, "How does 'Hook' sound to you, brother?"

_The year is 1983, where some say it all started, and the world is changed forever._


	2. Boto Meets Roboto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Narrator voice): The EVIL Decepticons have besieged the country of Japan! A family remains in danger, and our heroic Autobots are nowhere to be seen. Tune in to this exciting chapters of... THE TRANSFORMERS: ADAPTO SAPIENS: TAKARA!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Commercial time. Buy Lamborghini's new and improved Cosmic Countach, I guess.

** _We now return to The Transformers._ **

* * *

* * *

The month is now September, and the year is still 1983. But it felt like years. It is morning, yet with the scorched ash-gray sky it could be any time. We focus on a kind of dugout made from overturned debris, in the middle of a ravaged urban landscape, wind hissing and harmonized by the occasional painful scream of groaning metal, set to the accompaniment of a crackling fire coming from somewhere none of them could ever hope to find. Three months ago, a building was relieved of its integrity and tumbled to the ground, cracking and spilling open across the road and into other buildings. Most of the surrounding street had been spared, save whatever cars came to rest beneath it. If ever was their luck, those would just be normal cars.

Boto Hiroyuki, the family patriarch, climbed out first, leading first little Aika by the hand, and finally Booken brought up the rear. She clutched a handheld radio in her right hand, beat up and dusty but stubbornly alive. Once Mr. Boto decided that little Aika was safe and had a stable place to stand amongst the many cracks and slopes, he helped his wife out and took the handheld from her. He had no intention of using it yet, but he was the expert, and beyond that he simply preferred he have it. He would, however, produce a compass, and line it up. They would continue heading west.

"I think it's clear," Booken said. Emerging carefully, Mr. Boto began toeing tentatively on the rubble, once in a while testing his step with a lean, lean back. He stepped through without incident, until he slipped and slid into the street below. The supply backpack he was carrying had torn, and one of the arm-straps was completely gone, and it was doubtful the food inside had all survived. With a little effort he got back to his feet, glasses still in hand and intact. A moment later Mrs. Boto helped her daughter to the ground, recognizing the misstep her husband had made and perhaps being guided once more; maybe a bit of both. First the young girl's feet met the ground, then her mother's. She gave her husband a grin. Now both parents took their child's hands, and they walked, forward, westward.

They went around a few cars, destroyed bicycles, sometimes broken glass. There were no bodies to be seen, which was a relief. Twice in these months they'd seen bodies; a remarkably low amount, all things considered. Once in a while they would stop to rest, finding some restaurant or store that kept nonperishable food and likely water as well. Because they were out of the way and uncertain to be unlocked or have anything, Hiroyuki said, apartments and houses were off-limits. Booken had no objection, instinctual or otherwise. Even finding one would take too long, and time was, in a way, of the essence.

It had been like this for many days before, and every one of them knew they would likely trudge on for many more. But each day was also some new challenge, it seemed, and rarely one to be solved.

What was more, they had those giants to worry about. So far they hadn't seen any except perhaps in the distance, and they always passed something that could be one of them in disguise. What was worse was the inevitability. Booken knew that in all this long journey, they would meet one, and just like before she and everyone else would be paralyzed, too stupid and dumbfounded to run for their lives.

Today would pass with little incident, and at nightfall they found a park: a small one with a few trees, some benches which were mostly rotten, and a smashed fountain. Pulling some canned food from the torn backpack, the couple made a small fire and began to cook some of it. By the look of the label it would be soup. The three of them would grab some blankets or displaced mats and sit around the fire, consuming silently and drifting off into loud dreams that could easily be confused for an extension of reality.

As was his custom, Boto Hiroyuki would turn on the radio and test for a signal. As usual, he would find the same scraps of emergency signal played in a broken rhythmic loop. _"Contingency Seven...West coast...extraction...military."_ How convenient that it had gotten stuck playing the essential message in a loop, omitting the unnecessary parts. But of course it made sense. Any civilians that made it to the coast facing the mainland would find the military of the world waiting for them, whether it be on boats, or in planes, or all of the above. Safety for those who could make it, pity for those that couldn't or they had no room for. Men, the elderly, the impaired.

And as was the radio's custom, it annoyed its user until it was silenced. He dropped it into the grass with a sigh and removed his glasses to rub his face. Booken sat down beside him, and removed her shoes. Without a doubt their feet all ached, and they'd do little more walking tonight. Besides, this was their home for tonight, and there was some defiant humor in something so domesticated as that.

"Aika-chan was completely silent again today," she said. He twitched a bit, startled. She continued. "Is it possible she received some sort of injury that we wouldn't know about?"

"Doubtful," her husband replied, staring blankly with his eyes leveled at some point just beyond the fire. "Anyway, we'll know if we can find a doctor." He was referring to 'when and if they managed to get back to civilization'. Booken found that prospect silly, but he was right about the doctor.

"Perhaps she's simply refusing to," she blurted, but doubted he heard her. "She's currently playing on her own, or at least trying to. She won't wander far; she never does." Determined not to frustrate him anymore, she kept her mouth shut. Then he initiated his own exchange.

"Either way the problem will likely be fixed if we can make it. An article from the EIC stated that in the case of a disastrous attack, military forces would stay close by to monitor the situation. If we can reach the coast we can find them, and if we can find them they'll get us back." They both knew he was reaching, or at least she hoped they did.

"To what? Everyone and everything we had is gone. Wherever they put us will likely be a refugee camp where we will know no one and likely will never get the chance. Considering what we've seen, no matter how many camps there are it'll always be overcrowded to the point of separating families just to lighten their load. Aside from medical attention we wouldn't be going to much."

"Even if that were true, and if the situation there would be as bad as you say, it would still be better than letting us live out the rest of our lives here. Aika deserves more than that, perhaps even at the cost of our being together."

And at this Booken was silent. In the end he was right about that, and she could find no way to contradict his argument. When things boiled down, their duties as parents were to their child. Not their curiosities, not their own well-being, maybe not even each other. At that, Booken wondered how there were any suitable parents in the world. Always too selfish or too needy, with few exceptions.

_Stick them in your place and overpopulation will never be a problem again_, she remarked coldly. Then she got up and began shouting for Aika to return. Always within range of a moderate voice, she was.

And that's when they realized they were careless.

* * *

As Aika came running, still without so much as a laugh for her mother or a smile on her face, Booken felt a bit of that sense of pride that has no reason, that her daughter might still run and play in spite of her newfound morosity. She was smiling gladly with the girl in her arms when she heard that first groan and crash of something large and metallic.

In that moment there was no hesitation, merely an undying trust that she had some guide whose goal was the protection of her and her family. It knew what to do better than she did, and scooped up the child in her arms and began to make her run. Hiroyuki had already fanned out the fire and was pulling up the mats and blankets for them to crawl under. Anyone with a timer would've clocked the whole thing at less than eight seconds. Had the thing arrived any earlier, they would likely have been pulped one by one, each crying louder than the last as they were crunched to oblivion. They did not know this, but it was easy enough to guess.

It wasn't any sort of protection, merely its own form of disguise. The three of them huddled close, bouncing and trembling with each vast step. Aika's silence served her well now, perhaps better than her parents. Booken listened, clamping down the blanket so they would be completely invisible. _Don't_, that guide spoke to her, but it was terrified reflex. Her lips trembled and inside her mouth her teeth were beginning to chatter. She clamped her jaw and hoped it would work. Meanwhile Aika was clawing and clinging her, and she was sweating needles.

And still those infernal footfalls were drawing closer, closer. She had an image forming in her mind, or a hulking gray monstrosity with hunched shoulders, rail-like arms clawing the ground, disproportionately short legs digging claws into the ground in place of feet, all adorned in curving and jagged spikes on every surface. This image never seemed quite right, and she wondered what was so fundamentally wrong with this picture of a trespasser. She realized Aika was gasping shallowly into her ear, and wondered what was wrong with _her_, becoming lost to her thoughts at a time like this.

The booming halted, likely pausing, and it was more important now than ever that they stay silent. Booken's own breath became shallow and painful in her ears, and there was some surge running through her spine, making her feel like twitching. Maybe it was this creature doing that.

There was some infernal sound of whirring, like a thousand ratchets being turned in perfect tandem. Then a much more tense series of uneven clicks, daring them to jump, each one seeming more pronounced than the last. Booken paid much closer attention to her breathing, however, forcing herself to inhale and exhale more slowly, but not to hold her breath as eventually she would be gasping profusely. Aika's hand dug into her upper arm had the lightest and most noticeable of tremors.

At some point she had reached her hand for that of her husband's, but in the scramble he had been thrown on top instead, and she was only aware of this as her arm was beginning to tingle and fall asleep. That was a very bad thing. As if startled, she would twitch, or have to shift, and that would be unforgivable.

There was another image now, of smiling silver fangs. This too was hardly believable, but accompanying those chompers was a pair of the reddest genocidal rubies conceived. Those were real.

Apparently satisfied, the creature passed them by, and little by insignificant little the world seemed to tremble less and less. Booken was the first to move, wiggling her legs, but that was all she would allow. At one point Aika sneezed, but by then it was more than likely safe to get up. Aika got up first, and Booken simply turned over and shoved the blankets off of herself. With some effort, she remembered how to curl her fingers. It stung. None of them had any idea how long they were under there.

"From now on we stay close to shelter," Mr. Boto finalized grimly. Booken and the shaking child in her arms nodded agreement.

They slept there and continued in the morning. Nothing had changed, and at this point Booken was beginning to doubt anything ever would.

* * *

* * *

Now we focus elsewhere. Somewhere beyond knowledge of the Earth, lying dormant for what some would call a short time and others a long time, was a dark yellow spearhead, half a kilometer long and one-third wide. It drifted in a vegetative sleep, without purpose, without pilot, for all intents and purposes dead. It was crawling along, tumbling end over end at twelve miles a second, passing everything by and avoiding gravity through whatever physics loophole permitted it to even exist.

It came within a trillion miles of our little insignificant world when the lights came on. Not by any accident or coincidence, but it had _detected something._

Red lights, those were the lights that came on - The kind that some would call optic klaxons. They blinked and would blink on silently while the ship began to power up. That sputtering of engines, like a firstborn breath, nudged awake its occupants.

As of now they had no names, and were practically newborns. That effect would wear off soon enough, as they stumbled from their resting places in the walls themselves, sprung open on signal. They would groan and blink and discover their blank-slate bodies on the reflective surfaces of the floor, and if their purpose were served they would be quick to action. This they were. Five metallic forms, shapeless yet destined to take a plethora of shapes, a pair of Spark-blue orbs gazing darkly into the darkness outside their window, found formation. They were coming online.

Their optics were beginning to operate at full capacity, and they registered individual colors indicating function. This was no surprise to the five of them; after all, they were not wholly new. White, gold, red, blue, and one brandishing the four of these together.

All five consulted the readout by the window, which began chattering and pouring knowledge in through the optics. Their newfound objective, its location, and a bit of information on the insignificant world. This was useless, and nothing useful could be ascertained until they could manage to get closer.

Remembering his duty, the blue-colored being began talking back to the simple computer, his hands meshing with its circuits as the other four observed silently, and sternly. This was all in order.

Given time, the respiration of the engines crescendoed, focusing themselves on their target; rearing them in its direction, tearing forward at what was now becoming breakneck speed, whatever numbers those would be. Not as of one mind but as one unit, the five turned their optics to that little sad sphere of blue and green in the nearing distance, the red light blinking steadily to none of their protest nor annoyance.

Now the blue being, assisted by those white and golden, meshed with their controls, sending forth a veritable flock of small silver spheres from the tip of the spear into the null of space. These would scout ahead and relay knowledge; as some would say, "Knowing is half the battle." They would need knowledge, oh yes. Language, customs, aesthetics, culture. Some would find this abundance of required reconnaissance baffling, and reach to question its necessity. But not this unit. Even the large polychromatic, who observed with little immediate interest in its teammates' tasks, listened and observed patiently, albeit little patience.

As one, the decision was made: make contact as soon as the scouts gather the bare minimum of information. Preparations would begin immediately, no time for caution or stealth, diplomacy or what we would call "red tape". Their objective, whatever it was, would take priority over any other goal.

The first of the spheres entered the planet's gaseous shell within minutes: a primarily oxygen and nitrogen atmosphere working in tandem with a magnetic field whose potency none of the five had seen before. Population: biological, bipedal, average height varied to a degree but rarely above one Metron. Established integrated societies on six of seven continents, very prolific vehicular use. That would be their entry point.

As was their curse, each of the five examined the findings of the world and solidified their forms accordingly. Although they would not bother with true disguise, at the very least their taking of forms more familiar to them would reduce hostilities. Their mere numbers made them a threat, and a threat that could not be addressed traditionally at this time. Diplomacy might even come later. Wheels with tires, gears, engine parts. Even potential names, all absorbed through knowing. It gave them power.

Despite all this, all five also felt the same emanation from the world in a wave of uncertainty that would unite their thoughts. An overwhelming presence of something... malformed, deranged. It was a singular force, evil, vicious. Murderous. Without their purpose they would have flown to the far edge of the universe to escape that gnawing sensation of being corrupted completely.

The Decepticons were here. There would be trouble, and trouble meant battle, and battle meant death. They would be needed to oblige in full force.

The polychromatic being exited early, a shooting star of metal hurdling with an unparalleled fury towards that dogmatic end goal that they were all generated for. He had a name now, and a title, earned and restored:

Enter Monger Blitzkaiser.

* * *

* * *

Booken didn't dream much anymore, but tonight was an obvious exception. She was running (what's new?), but it never seemed to be anywhere, just suspended where she was. No motion, no force or friction. She couldn't see to save her life, and the silence had her ready to jump at the most insignificant little click.

But it wasn't insignificant, was it? Nope!

She was back on the street, all those months ago, resting her feet as she leaned against the hood of that man's car. The sky was Inferno-orange, and the ground was cracking madly - not even splitting open or breaking apart, more like chunks falling out to nowhere. She would be safe on the car, but Boto Hiroyuki, that selfless father, had already grabbed little Aika and clutched her dearly, as well he should. What worsened this heroic display was the fact that the pavement had cracked in a perfect circle around the car, and Booken now laying in some inhuman position on the hood. Or at least, anyone looking through naked human eyes would say she was positioned unnaturally. To her it was quite comfortable, defying reason and letting her rest serenely and defy her own maternal sense of despair. Her child and the love of her life were gone forever, but she could lay down and loaf without care!

The car beneath her underwent a metamorphosis known so well in this world. Now she laid on some majestic murderer's cold metal shoulder, on another plane of existence from her cares. Let her daughter cry all she wanted, and her husband grieve, but she was content to let the sky crack open and swallow the whole world with everyone in mid-stride. The blackened ground sizzled and finally gave way, leaving her to topple freely at the mercy of her whimsical curiosity: that driving force that desecrates worlds and rips families to shreds and strands them in their left-behind old world...!...

...which Booken was swift to awaken to. She nudged Aika and Hiroyuki, and now they continued West within fifteen minutes. After yesterday night's reassertion of their dangers, they agreed to stick closer to the whole buildings, which would also provide shelter and possibly whatever else they might have a need for. The problem presented here was that it would slow the three of them down even further. Still, Hiroyuki-san was not to have his family in any more danger than necessary, and so they would take this method into practice. Quite the contradictions from their previous efforts, but there was that ever-guiding _shift_ in Booken that reaffirmed it as a good idea. So they stuck within ten steps of whatever shops, complexes or other buildings they could. The closer the better.

Today was yet another where Aika was silent. It was unnerving; it seemed more and more like this ordeal had robbed her. That worry, all those months (years?) ago, that Aika wouldn't have a chance to grow up in this plummeting sphere of society? Or the alternative, becoming apathetic to the entirety of the exotic fascination of a world that existed beyond itself, destined to become just like the tourists with the stupid T-shirts and no imagination? Irrelevant now. Useless. Those were things she could not pay any mind to, not with the pressing matter of escape.

It seemed pointless to try and play games, but there was nothing else to do. And in the unease and unrest of Japan, 1983, a little time passed would be a mercy. Maybe Aika would forget her supposed vow and become verbose.

"I can see the outline of a frog on that wall," she began, and pointed. Hiroyuki squinted his bespectacled eyes, yet couldn't discern a frog from a fly in the scratch and crack patterns. Instead he got the point and searched for some other abnormality.

"And I see... I believe I see a teacup in that glass in the street," he added, indicating the odd way a pile of glass shards were resting in the center of the street. Booken stood on her toes to see it, to little avail. After a moment... she finally made out multiple roughly circular figures. Could _that_ be the teacup in question?

"Aika-chan!" Booken called to her daughter, again to be found observing something neither parent had much view or knowledge of. "What images do you see in this cityscape?" She looked up with a kind of sullenness, and pointed: to the sky above them. It was orange, and blazing like Dante's depiction of the burning lake. Booken was reminded of that cracked pavement. That would not happen this time!_ Curiosity or not, I know where I will stand, _she asserted. And her family would be safe and with her, even if she was leading them all to a comparatively merciful erasure from existence.

Desperately determined not to relive that dream, she knew immediately to go left: out toward the street. She grabbed her husband's hand and yanked him. Hard. Aika was ahead of them, sprinting in that way only a child can to the other side. This was some sort or pavilion Booken could hardly glean the purpose of, but together they crouched and huddled. They would live and die _together._

There was a dust cloud, and the sound of buckling girders at an accelerated rate, entering a steely whine of a sad falsetto. Positive impact.

The dust was quick to settle to non-cough-inducing levels, but hung like the world's biggest blindfold. Booken, her standard of loyalty abandoned, became the first to approach this newest arrival. She was fully aware it was most likely ravenously destructive, and that it would assume a familiar-looking form. And she was aware that neither of these things mattered, because either she would survive her newest impulse or she wouldn't. Did her husband say something to her, about stepping back immediately?

It turns out both mattered, and both were true. A white hand dangled over, its fingers drumming against the street in a singular falling motion. You've likely all done the same thing with your fingernails.

This thing didn't appear to have much life. Or any life. And she could not see because the dust cloud had accumulated around what would likely be its body. She was thinking of Cosmo Countach again, and the way others had run, yet she stayed. It was the same here. And either she was walking straight for her death, or impulse knew her minds: both physical and metaphysical.

She fell backwards in an instant, aware that the hand which had engraved dent-shaped cracks in the pavement was now sprung straight up. She screamed for a moment, and Hiroyuki held Aika tight against him, certain this was the end.

And it was. Monger Blitzkaiser had made contact.

* * *

He got to his feet, wood crunching and metal squeaking to death beneath him. He was looking out over the sprawl of it all, mostly oblivious to the screaming below him. In this culture, he'd gathered, screaming was an expression of fear. All very basic, and once he had surveyed his surroundings thoroughly, he took notice of those little squishy things expressing fear.

They were running now, and had he known their strategy for survival, sure to get themselves killed fairly quickly. And since he didn't see any other humans here, he needed a moment to figure out how to deal with them. He could kill them easily enough and be justified in doing so, but he doubted he wanted to. He killed 'Creeps, not bystanders.

Next idea: coax them into calm. He followed them in his optics the whole way, and in a handful of clambering, clumsy steps, was in front of them. What was their symbol for friendlies?

He held his hands up, palms forward, looking down at them. Had his face the parts to do it, he would've tried to smile. He spoke to them too, or tried to. They gave him a sudden confused look. How close to the mark had he hit? He remembered seeing a sign during his survey, and the text on that sign had been a language. Japanese, he remembered. Dialect shouldn't be too difficult.

"I'm here to help you," he said firmly, this time in the correct language. His voice modulator shifted a bit with this new diction. They all groaned in unison. His intonation and balance must be incompatible with their sensory processors, either inaudible or causing great pain. After all, no scout caught everything. He downed treble, upped bass, and dropped three octaves.

"I'm here to help you," he repeated in the stern, deep voice of a soldier. And he remembered some other custom of theirs, which would denote respect. He dropped his hands to his waist and gave a slight bow. Shocked, the larger two of the trio bowed in return, and after a moment, the smaller one did too. This appeared to be a biological family: planter, bearer and yield. What this world universally referred to as parents and a child.

"My name is Monger Blitzkaiser," he continued (heard as "_Monga Buritzu-kaisa_" by their ears), squatted to about twice their height, and brought his left hand downward and forward. In this region, would they handshake? Even so, he laughed silently at their massively disproportionate scale to one another. Surprisingly, the male - father - extended his own right hand, then gazed at it and switched to his left hand. He wrapped it around the alien's index finger and gave a slow up-down. If the Monger had reciprocated he'd risk dislocating the man's shoulder.

"I am Boto Hiroyuki," the man said. He removed his hand and gestured back to his family with his right hand. "These are my wife, Booken, and daughter, Aika."

"I am..." He reached briefly for a response; this would get easier with time. "I am pleased to meet you, _san_." That was an incorrect address and he knew it, but they didn't seem to mind, and so he didn't care. "I can also offer some explanation." At this he saw the female - mother - suddenly twitch, or start forward. At least one of them was curious enough to trust him. Good. They could learn from each other.

* * *

* * *

** _The Transformers will return after these messages._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I think my face is on fire." - "King of the World" liner notes from the CD release of Steely Dan's "Countdown to Ecstasy"


	3. Dinner and a Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Boto family travel with the Monger across Japan, and get their first tastes of what fighting back looks like. Meanwhile, in Korea...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some obligatory info-dump to follow.

** _We now return to The Transformers._ **

* * *

* * *

Now we turn our gazes elsewhere: an American naval base in South Korea. It had been repurposed as a monitor the besieged island some five-hundred or six-hundred miles east, but ironically had never been more prepared for war than it was now. Except...

Not war. Surrender. _An involuntary surrender_, Colton thought. Unconditional, complete, humiliating, left no choice. Japan had been taken from the world and they were just trying to keep these aliens from taking anything else.

And he happened to be doing duty on the watchtower. Exactly what he couldn't remember, nor the description of the task, but he could pass by sitting with his rifle at the ready, looking out to the watery horizon. It was sunset now. Best time of our lives. He'd be out here for another half hour or so, and the shift would change. _Shift_, if you like double meanings. But for now, it was his time to think. About what? Who knows. Certainly no one who cared, least of all himself.

He was distracted. He was slow to see it, but once he saw it he was glued. As per military redundancy, others saw it too, but he was the first.

Four fireballs in formation.

He yelled immediately. "Contact! Four bogeys on the horizon! Repeat: Contact! Four bogeys on the horizon!"

And it was a wire. The other eyes of the world heard with their ears, and passed it on with their mouths. The entire base was in that instant no longer observing, but again at war. Had he chosen to, Colton would've remarked how this was a good thing.

From there he was swept up in the military-level efficiency of professional pandemonium. What he - and everyone else on the base - had neglected to see or mention was how close their quadruple-threat was getting. _Not the horizon if your vision ended at a brick wall._

Choppers were lifting off, armed to the grill with soldiers armed to their teeth. Fighters on aircraft carriers scrambled just off the coast. One-thousand guns in the hands of soldiers at each and every moment. The well-oiled machine Captain Joseph Colton was proud to be a part of. But the cacophony had him somewhere on an empty helipad when one of the bogeys got a little intimate with their lookouts.

There were a few yells and a lot of wordless clamoring as the UFO made its final approach. It crashed into the pad but managed to squeeze out no more than a ringing hum that rose from the ground into your ears and your firmly planted palms. Nothing big or impressive, really. And within moments Colton saw the thing that would change his life. No surprise to you but skirting the edge of what he could take in stride, was a silver-and-gold... robot. A big one, he'd estimate about forty or fifty feet tall. Huge. Blocky. Bulky.

It saw him. With a narrow bloody band over a square void where lips should be and instead teeth jutted from the cheeks, it settled its gaze on him, and he gladly admitted he was afraid and likely to die. But in that instant that the metal killer saw him he wanted nothing more than to fight back either. Kill or be killed. He had a gun.

He raised it to the behemoth, the world beyond the two of them useless at best. He fired. Heard it strike, heard it bounce.

"Pathetic," it growled. Every syllable rang like some perfect machine with vocal chords made of guitar strings. It wanted to kill him.

"Be nice to the little ones," another voice said. Disturbingly casual. "We need their help, so try not to get off on the wrong foot by stepping on one of them." No alien should've ever talked like that. It should've been flat and mechanical and used all the wrong sentence structures. Not this calm cracking of jokes.

He looked over to his right and saw, about a hundred feet away, a blue robot with car doors for wings stood outside a hangar with his arms at right angles: _Don't shoot, I'm only the deadliest machine you've ever seen._ As was expected, he too was surrounded by soldiers with guns ready. Smartly so, they were waiting.

Another landed to Colton's left: a big white robot with... police lights?

"Attention!" He began in a garbled, rumbly voice. Its intonation modulated wildly like a musique concrete organ, repeating its demand until settling on an authoritative tenor. "Attention, human military! We're not here to attack you, we need your help! Stand down!"

"Yeah, sure!" Colton couldn't remember getting up, yet here he was, defiantly charging the alien. "Let us simmer for a while and we'll do whatever you say!"

"Squash?" The gold one. The white one nodded, stopped, then shook his head. This wasn't for his fellow soldier. It was for Colton.

"That won't be necessary." He returned his gaze to Colton. "I think he's their Monger." Now he spoke to the human. "You're serving sentry over the besieged island, correct?" Colton kept listening. "We'll explain more later, but for now we need your help."

"Yes." A new voice. Faint British accent. Colton turned. "We need to speak to your C.O, right away." Colton didn't need to turn to recognize this as a fourth voice.

Something about the whole thing eased Colton, as it did the rest of the soldiers with their guns, which now dropped to a rest. Colton was one of the first to move in any direction. The entirety of the human population within a hundred yards in any direction followed him as leader. He might've been the first to get past the giant alien robots with car parts hanging off of them.

* * *

The only real place to accommodate them was in a cleared hangar or just out in the open, like the helipad. The latter was where they chose to meet. Colton was present among the officers, but there'd been no order for anyone else to avoid listening in. De facto open house.

The four of them had gathered in a line with their backs to the coast: a formation if ever Colton ever had eyes.

"My name is Prowl," the white one began. As estimated, he was the leader. Colton guessed, if he knew his archetypes, that the ranks were as follows: the gold one was the Muscle, and the blue one was the Mouth. The red one? "I think it's customary to let my underlings introduce themselves." He even threw in a hand wave towards them in presentation.

"Grimlock." The gold one's silver cheek-teeth rose and fell like he was flapping his jaws.

"I am Perceptor," the red one said. "I am, I think, our engineer and scientist." He smiled when finished. Colton knew that he was the Brains and doubled on the side as the Heart. How sweet.

"By process of elimination, that _should _make me Skids. But I'll leave that to you," he added. Again, Colton was right. He was the Mouth.

"Now that they're finished, I believe a full explanation would be in order, albeit condensed for time. But you should realize that we're here to ask your help, and we need an answer quickly, so refrain from asking any questions; if you don't understand, you missed it, and besides, the majority of you would've caught it anyway."

"Then get on with it!" Colton shouted. Prowl shot him a glance, and resumed.

"There exists an entire race of beings like us, spread out among the galaxies like cheap candy. For the most part, we fall under two factions: Autobot and Decepticon. The ones that attacked Japan are Decepticons, and their code negates any moral or qualm you can imagine. They seem to be a small group, perhaps no more than ten. -

(Ten!)

" - They want something there, and we were drawn to the same thing. We are Autobots, perhaps the last, and we believe we've been fighting the Decepticons for our entire existence; unlike them, we are bound by the morals your species most closely condone, and we believe a mutual alliance would be a good strategy. So we now ask if you agree to these terms, and from there we'll begin preparations to head there together."

Colton could feel the collective nodding. The head honcho, Gen. Abernathy, expressed the same thing in exactly two more words than anyone else: We do.

"Now we can discuss our plans in slightly more depth: with any time we will be able to outfit any soldiers we can with our protective and projectile technology. We will mobilize within eighteen hours, and rendezvous with our fifth member on the island within thirty-six. Considering your armaments and personnel compliment based here, this time-frame shouldn't be difficult." He seemed to be finished, then turned to his comrades. "Is there anything my squadron would like to add?"

Skids did.

"All members of our species can do this." He then proceeded to drop to all fours and perform some mechanical acrobatics unlike anything ever witnessed before by man, except perhaps those beloved dolls of the first and the fictional guests. Within five seconds the blue robot with car-door wings was a blue Honda van.

In echo, Grimlock performed a similar stunt, and became a... cross between Tyrannosaurus Rex and the more film-friendly Godzilla monster. All of the soldiers were stifling chuckles with deathly seriousness; Grimlock seemed ready to disobey orders, especially those involving _squash_.

Perceptor's alter ego was similarly hilarious: some sort of oversized computers from several decades ago, with a curious little turret on top.

Finally, Prowl crawled up into a mixed breed of sport and law: a racecar with jet engines and the funny little strobe lights on top. He was the last to change shape and the first to change back.

"I think you'd call it 'Transformation'. And we're the Transformers," Skids commented.

_Just like the cartoons_, Colton thought. _All that need to do now is announce when they change form. Fine by me, we have a war to take back._

* * *

* * *

"Monger Blitzkaiser: Transform!" He announced it with a booming organ of a throat as his body began to undergo metamorphosis. The trio of the Boto family observed in awe as the multicolored mechanoid was now some sort of massive military vehicle unlike anything they had ever seen before. Booken was grinning, and so was little Aika in her arms. Even Hiroyuki had something of one growing between his lips.

The door to the cab opened, and they climbed up several steps and into a row of seats. With a bit of struggle, Booken remembered seatbelts, and considered nervously that there would be none. Hiroyuki handed her strap to her and she took it, then handled Aika's. The door slammed behind them.

"Monger-san, where are we going?" Hiroyuki asked. Booken had an idea that it was safety: the kind at the eye of the storm.

The radio spoke to them, exactly as the giant had: "I have my mission. I can't stray, but I can bring you with me. I will make very clear that safety will not be my top priority." Somehow this was the most comforting part to Booken.

They started with a rumble, and the wheels were turning. This vehicle was built for shoving others out of its way, and the Monger did this gladly, shoving aside any vehicles inconsiderate enough not to move themselves first. There was a kind of decadence to it that earned the mech his name and title.

Due to the amount left in the streets, there was only so much plowing to be done in a day, and progress was slow. Most of the day was made in silence. Booken's mind wandered more than a fair bit. In all likelihood there would be encounters, with the things she had seen. Now with a working vehicle, they would make much better time. Of course, how would this Blitzkaiser react to hearing them say that they required a bathroom, or perhaps to scrounge for food? Food wasn't a huge problem, and neither was water, since they carried a bit of both. But their seats weren't toilets, and considering his mission any stops would be a hindrance.

Although... everything expends energy. This robot is no exception; especially not. He would become tired and stop to rest, given time. What would he require to replenish himself? Some distorted equivalent of sleep, or perhaps something goofier, like absorbing a cube of pure energy? Given, a humanoid shapeshifting car is goofy, but there wasn't much humor to find in that anymore.

She saw her husband fiddling futilely with the radio again, and eventually stopped when it picked up music. Exactly how this happened was to be a mystery, but Booken saw in her head a man, likely a disc jockey, sitting in such a radio station as this. He was alone, haggard, and trapped here with them. It didn't matter if this was imagination or intuition - they were likely not the only ones, and there was nothing to be done about that. The real question was how they'd managed not to find another person in weeks. Strangest of all, the number of cadavers seen was remarkably low, too.

_Maybe they eat us_, she thought. This became humorous within an instant. _This Monger Blitzkaiser is going to grind us up in his cockpit of death and let us simmer in his metal stomach until digestion. _She smiled, and realized how sick such an idea would be. Gallows humor is most often made at the gallows.

Would this giant and his mission put an end to all that? She believed his story about who he was, albeit with much left ambiguous, but he'd said nothing of his specific objective. The heart of the enemy, most likely. This would lead to at least one of them dying if not all, and surely she couldn't be the only one who knew that! Yet they all clambered in, ready to go. And here they were, mowing through waves and herds of cars, bound to encounter something at any moment.

Seriously enough, something did. The Monger stopped in the street, and kicked-up dust was starting to form a fog. The door came open. Recognizing this as the indicator it was, clan Boto found themselves climbing out. One Aika was through the door shut, and after the door shut Blitzkaiser took his bodily form.

"What is it?" Asked Hiroyuki. Without looking once, Blitzkaiser pointed with a single finger to a wrecked restaurant building. They ran for it, keeping low and striding in an absurd-looking half crouch.

* * *

Meanwhile, the Monger examined his target: a not-at-all-normal-looking tank, of all things!

"I know who you are," he called out. This was not true. "I know _what_ you are. And if you don't show it, I'll take ya for just another tank, and you'll be raining down over a hundred-mile radius!"

Obviously, this threat held.

"Transform!" The tank called out in reassurance, and rusty metal plates began to fold on one another, forming first a cube, then a full-fledged robot. The tank's cannon became a torso piece, and he appeared to be crippled: his legs remained as tank treads. His eyes glowed white. "Blitzkaiser!" He called in recognition. The Monger was caught in surprise. He stepped back, leaving half a car above five feet and the other half below five inches behind him with a _crunchk_.

"I don't know you." They were still speaking in Japanese, and the Boto family were listening in.

"But I know you - Bane of Fire, Carrier of Destruction, all those corny _doer_ of _thing_ generic titles. And you've been called all of them." He spoke with that light, sliding voice of an arrogant prankster, underlined by a bit of an electronic buzz. None of this information came as a shock to any of them, and in hiding they listened in relative safety. Cover, more like.

"Not impressed, now get out of my way." The tank's eyes narrowed in optical grin. Booken knew he wouldn't just ditch them here. He may look like it, but it was just that: a look. Acting. The tank rolled in front of him, only half his height but sturdier at the base, and with his featured weapon trained upwards. In his optics, Blitzkaiser saw something of a desire to be annoying. Unironically, it annoyed him.

"No interest in knowing how I know you?"

"No, and I don't care."

"And what about the humans hiding in the restaurant right behind you?" Booken froze. Aika was starting to pant shallowly. Never a good sign. It had a shake to it.

"I still don't care. You can go over there right now and kill them yourselves if you want; I don't need anything slowing me down. Now get out of my way." The tank's prankster voice dropped a quarter of an octave. His own facade was no more.

"Fine by me."

Blitzkaiser barely had time to take a defensive stance before the tank made contact. Those treads were unnervingly fast, and he fired directly at the Autobot Monger. It grazed his armored leg before exploding shrapnel. This was more a warning shot than anything.

The tank's legs became full-fledged limbs in a series of rattling _clang_s, and he leapt at the Monger in the direction of the restaurant behind him. He growled tauntingly, arms out and sporting claws, but Blitzkaiser managed to throw him aside. He slammed into an office complex and it began to bury him. Watching patiently, he didn't need to wait long for the tank to emerge again, powdered white and his eyes glowing their right red. Decepticon for sure. He charged, unsurprisingly, but this time he performed one of many Transformer combat acrobatics, and the Monger was not prepared for this. The tank performed a half-Transformation, bringing his legs back into treads and springing upwards - far higher than Blitzkaiser thought possible - onto his face.

"YOU'RE FINISHED FOR ALL YOU'VE DONE, AUTOBOT! BE TRUE TO YOUR SPARK AND LET THE DISTRACTIONS DIE!"

He brought him down, and the giant's head dropped within ten feet of the shattered restaurant window which the trio of human was crouched under. Needless to say, Booken had told them to crawl back moments before, and they were regardless unharmed.

The tank was about to leap for the building again, but Blitzkaiser caught his leg and yanked him back with enough force to rip one set of treads from his legs. Being unarmed, he then picked up two broken cars from the street before him and held them in front like a single shield. As the tank struggled to his feet again, the Monger brought both down on his head. After the initial shock he let the automobiles drop, and brought his bare fists down on the tank's head. Under the full force of it the Decepticon soldier's helmet buckled, and there was a sick crack like the shattering of a bone. The glowing white - and red - eyes were now black, and they would be black forever. He was dead, and the victor was silent.

Aika was the first to step from the empty restaurant, although Booken was supposed to be leading her by the hand. Bringing up the rear was Hiroyuki, carrying most of their supplies in his hand. The one remaining strap on the backpack had snapped, and they would need a new one. Strange how things happen together. They observed the leg wound the tank had inflicted, and he followed their gaze. He stared at the leg with a longing none of them could see. But they felt it. There was no pain or damage, at least not physically.

"I lied," he said. "I did know him." He Transformed again, and through the open passenger door the speakers in the cab called to them. "Hurry up, or I just might not have been lying about leaving you!" They hoped he didn't mean this.

He did.

* * *

* * *

They stopped that night and disembarked. Blitzkaiser said he didn't sleep as they did, but he would need to rest for the night. He said nothing of eating. Perhaps he could photosynthesize, like a flower. A gigantic, loudly-colored flower that could take the form of a large vehicle and clobber other giants to death. He found a parking lot and rested there in a kind of squat, like he was meditating. He might've been. Another image came to Booken's mind: a wolf-like creature in Blitzkaiser's colors, curling up on the ground in a ball. It had wings folded up into a tail, and calm blue sparks emanating from its nostrils.

Meanwhile, the trio of humans known as the Boto family made a fire, and warmed some food over it. Aika burned her tongue and spit into the fire without ever screaming or even so much as grunting. It was becoming more and more unnerving.

Hiroyuki tried the radio again. Now he got no signal at all.

"This is wrong," he said quietly, as if afraid the sleeping giant would hear them. "We were so close to the coast, yet here we are coming right back, and already we're days behind ourselves! What made you agree to this!?"

"What made you?" Bouken inquired.

"I don't know. I trusted you, maybe. But he even told us he was going straight into the heart of enemy territory, and we got in anyway!"

"Maybe you trust him too."

"Just hours ago he turned us over to that... thing! Why would any of us trust him after that?"

"I don't know. But I know I trusted him because I knew I should. And if it bothers you that much then say it. I'll support you."

"Don't do that," he whispered even softer now. And it stung even more. "Don't turn this into me being a coward." He sighed angrily, and there was some relief. But next to nothing. "I just want you and Aika to be safe, and that's it. We can't do that if we're wading into the heart of this. We've had encounters with them before, but nothing like what will be happening. You know that."

And Booken was silent. She had no response that he would accept, and certainly none she would either. Everything she had boiled down to curiosity. She _wanted_ to see it, and to a lesser degree to help this visitor. She knew that was selfish, yet just like her beloved husband she had been paralyzed into silence. Neither of them were helping the other at all.

Both of them turned at the sound of Aika shuffling toward them. She was smiling. Both of these parents forgot their worries and dilemmas and embraced this moment. Their daughter had something to show them.

"What is it, Aika-chan?" She turned her head toward the entranced giant. She held up a piece of paper. She folded it horizontally, then vertically, creating a sheet four times as thick and a quarter the size. She then unfolded it, and then refolded it. This time she folded it into an uneven triangle, and then farther into a small paper plane. She threw it, and it sailed off before her with an uncanny precision. Their little girl had just compared the behemoth Blitzkaiser to a piece of paper! Both of them chuckled happily, and Aika's lipped smile became a toothy grin.

That lightened the night. The amount of pride and amusement felt by the parents for their daughter can only be described to other parents. No one else seemed to understand it. And in those moments, there's nothing that can break their joy. Nothing short of seeing their beloved murdered before their eyes, at least. Fortunately that didn't happen here, and while sleep was patient it was also peaceful.

Mostly.

* * *

_There's a new arrival today. Want to get him? No, not worth it. Let him come to us. I thought the Autobots were all dead! That was a false hope and you know it. He has allies, but we can't get to them. We bide our time, and wait until the Trainer arrives. How do you know he'll come? He gave response to my signal. Hey, you didn't tell us that! Yes, I did! No, you didn't! Oh, stop it! We have a job to do!_

_\- Shift -_

_A giant. A Titan among Titans, dwarfing even the mighty Monger. A true inverse of him, right down to the colors: green, purple, orange, black. But he wants the same thing. Destroy, find, kill. This Titan has in him a precision - a surety, slow but methodical. A killer. A Devastator._

_Dogs. Hounds from the depths of Hell, all visceral silver and those blazing orange eyes that have seen The Forge. Needle teeth hanging over their jaws. A bark reminiscent of a world crunching in the mouth of some unknowably old cosmic monster. Hunters. The Dogs of the Trainer._

_And the Trainer himself? Unseen, as of yet, and of no consequence. His dogs are the familiars of the Titan. They will tear the Monger limb from limb, and those he fights alongside. The Titan will be mad they left nothing for him. They won't care. They're dogs. They were hungry._

_Booken will be laying over her husband's mutilated and bloody body. Aika will have no remains. In her last moments she will be surrounded by the same dogs. But the Titan will ask for this one to be his. Otherwise he came here for nothing. She will die silently, and she will understand her daughter in those final seconds before death._

_\- Shift -_

_The scout is an Autobot. There's no force that can pull him from the iron grip of the world. As far as he knows, he is the last, and he must not die, or else the cause dies with him. But this planet... It calls to him..._

_No! It's a trap! The ring and the golden horns stare down at him, taunting him. The Autobots will die with no fanfare. Just POOF. Snap and gone._

_With the last of his strength, he Transforms. He doesn't want to die in disguise, but this is out of his control._

_CRASH._

_He's in pain. Unbearable. But he knows he will not bear it much longer._

_In his last moments, with his last strength, his Spark already making the return trip, he sees a crowd. Then the crowd is no more, and only Booken remains._

_\- Shift -_

_Sunstreaker believes the same thing. His brother is dead, and he wants nothing more than to see him again. There is a world he sees in passing. Watery, lush with vegetation and life. He'd like to see it before being one._

_But for him too it is a false hope. The ring with the golden horns. He will die alone, and his Spark will leave and be alone. No Sideswipe here!_

_He hit the water and it was over instantly._

* * *

She leapt up in her sleeping bag and fell over sideways. She had already forgotten most of the dream. Most of it.

"Blitzkaiser!" She knew he was listening. "Dogs! There are dogs!" By the time she got up again she'd forgotten completely her visions, except those of the dogs.

He knew what she meant. He got up with something of a metallic roar and stood towering above her. It was well into the night, and he had headlights which washed her in a stream of white light. Something about it seemed aquatic. He stared at her contemplatively for a few moments.

Then Hiroyuki was up, practically running out of his own blankets. Aika was still fast asleep.

"What is it?" He asked. His arm went around her. It was a protective motion that had seemed so beyond him.

"Nothing," she lied. She didn't like it, but hopefully if he knew she was lying he would understand why, too. Besides, it wasn't even a lie. She barely remembered what it meant either. Most of the dream was in all likelihood just her imagination. Everyone had that. Just like everyone had their "a-ha!" moments of inspired epiphany. No special case. Guesswork.

"I've heard all I needed to hear. Get ready. We leave in thirty minutes."

She had no idea if he knew what she'd meant. Instead it went out of her mind as she roused her daughter. She awoke silently, and with a simple nod aided in gathering their things.

Blitzkaiser had Transformed and driven away. He would not return until the thirty minutes were up. Booken didn't even need her imagination to understand why: he was burying his dead in private. Or whatever his species did with their dead. When he returned, he simply opened the door and made the same threat: hurry up or you're staying here.

There was a bit less surety this time. Hiroyuki was the last to step in, and was almost thrown to the ground when the Monger pulled away.

* * *

* * *

_ **The Transformers will return after these messages.** _


	4. A Destructive Force?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Monger faces new enforcers as G.I. Joe has fun cutting through the red tape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "There will be no dedicated Autobot warriors! That is my decision." - unknown

** _We now return to the Transformers._ **

* * *

* * *

The decision for the U.S. Military to head to Japan with the four Autobots was not taken lightly. A liaison was sent by helicopter: a weaselly fellow with dorky glasses and an oversized suit. Grimlock seemed to hope he could convince the small man that this was a valid decision simply by hovering over him like some vast predatory bird. Colton was grinning as he watched. The robot kept his visor on the little guy, just waiting for him to break and decide to return home. Perhaps the man was afraid he'd be mauled by a shapeshifting robotic dinosaur if he made any move.

Perceptor and Skids were well underway with their tech, and Prowl was discussing the many nuances of charging into battle with the Generals on base. He found himself going to Grimlock and his little weasel friend. He was sitting in the sun with the gold Autobot looming over him.

"Afraid to move?" He taunted, snickering a little. The diplomat was sitting in a Jeep, and didn't care about the humor at his expense. His mouth was quivering and there was a terror behind his lenses.

"He's watching me!"

"Yeah, he is. You seen 'em Transform yet?" He nodded raggedly. Colton was still having trouble stifling his laughter. "Ain't it the craziest thing! Well, Grimlock may look like a killer but if he kills you then Prowl's going to be all over him." The weasel's eyes widened. His tie was starting to flap in the wind.

"How do you know that?" Colton's response was a measured counterargument: a question leading into another question.

"Because he hasn't murdered you yet? You get the rundown on who they are? And why they're here?" Another nod. "So you know their job here is to help deal with the Japan situation."

"We don't conspire with aliens, especially terrorists!" He seemed delirious, like he didn't know what he was saying. Just what his job and the foreign policy handbook told him. Colton rested a hand on the Jeep and leaned in close.

"Like the one keeping watch over you right now?" Cartoonishly, he gazed straight up. Grimlock was grinning - on both sides of his face.

"Short, sharp lesson," the monstrous mech chimed. The tusks on his cheeks flapped in unison. The weasel gasped horribly, and whimpered. Colton would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy every moment of this. He was now laughing loudly. Good thing they didn't put a guard by him.

He walked away, hoping he'd helped to persuade the diplomat. And if not, who cared? For one he certainly didn't. Grimlock's show was certainly amusing, but if anything only reinforced the man's fear. And what had he himself done? Likely the same thing, but getting the giant's point across was his goal. He was pretty sure he'd done just that.

* * *

A young corporal came to get him, and proceeded to haul him to what seemed to be a meeting in the hangar bay, where Prowl, Skids and Perceptor were. In addition to the aliens were a handful of humans. Colton knew every one of them. At the head of the group were General Abernathy and Prowl. Grimlock would join them soon after. The weasel might very well have gone home and cried to his mother.

The general called the meeting to attention. He was pacing with his hands on his hips. Out of uniform. This would be unofficial.

"You can all probably guess why we're here," he began. "We're not making much progress with the minutiae of bureaucracy, nor with bureaucracy itself. But given the way things have been the past few months, and new developments, in all likelihood we are..." A sigh. Colton knew that sigh. He would regret what he was about to say. "We have no other choice. I'm mobilizing Galvanized Iron."

Colton wanted to hoop and holler right then and there.

"However," Abernathy continued, "The chances of you coming out of this with both your ranks and your lives is next to none. Normally I wouldn't ask that of any soldier, but being what Galvanized Iron is, that's nothing new to any of you. You will take the Autobots and their augmented weapons, and you will aid in retaking Japan from the Decepticons. This joint goal is what will unite them with you. And considering that this will likely be completely unsanctioned, there is no reason you can't back out now. Do we have any takers?" No one moved. Of course not. This was what they were waiting for. "I'll let Prowl take over the explanations."

"We still have hours before we can properly mobilize, but every second between now and then will be spent in preparation. You all will be outfitted with exo-suits and given several weapons." He held up what appeared to be an empty vest in his left hand, flopping impotently. With some sort of invisible gesture with his fingers, he must've turned it on.

"Henshin!" He yelled in Japanese, and suddenly the vest went rigid. He released it and let it float. It appeared to be a full translucent blue body, glowing with a bit of a pulse.

"This is what you'll be wearing. Full-body repulsion field, limited countergravity engine power, and running on a perpetual circuit. These words may not mean much, but when activated this suit will protect you from anything. Each and every one of you is going to need one if you engage in combat with the Decepticons. Henshin!" He yelled again, and the vest dropped at Colton's feet. It looked just like the harnesses he'd worn before, except not silver like this one. He crouched and picked it up.

"Sounds good," he said. Prowl looked down at him and nodded.

"We have a re-estimated departure time: 2300 hours, eight and a half hours from now. If we do, in fact, receive government approval, it'll be too late, regardless of their decision. Do still all agree?" Abernathy knew this was just a cursory double-check, as did the soldiers of Galvanized Iron who did, in fact, agree.

* * *

...

* * *

Another day of driving. After Blitzkaiser returned they departed, and that had been about five or four in the morning for them. Now it was eight. Again, it was mostly in silence. Only the Monger's roaring of engines and the crunch of anything in his way. Aika stared out the left-facing window, seemingly content to watch the tattered urban landscape just crawl by. It took Booken perhaps half an hour to realize that her husband was holding her hand. She brought her gaze upward to him and he smiled slightly. She did too. It was beginning to get boring, and Bo0ken suddenly thought about a book. All her sci-fi classics would now have to be branded as realistic fiction, she considered.

It was not half an hour later that Blitzkaiser screamed to a halt. A pile of cars had accumulated in front of him like snow in a snowplow, but that wasn't it. The door opened, and they were out. The vehicle became the mech, and he was looking for something.

"What is it?" Hiroyuki called. He was yelling and whispering, all in one. As was expected, all the giant gave was a waving motion. G_et behind me._

Bo0ken took her husband's hand and Aika followed them. A truck recently overturned by a certain red-and-blue giant did the trick. They heard him take two stomps forward, shattering the pavement beneath him. Stop.

Bo0ken was fairly certain there was another Transformer out there. And if so, it probably was not a friendly one. They likely wouldn't even try to pretend, as that tank had. And suddenly she remembered the dogs. If this were them, none of them would stand any chance. _Don't think like that_, she told herself. _Think about the possibilities where you _can_ make it out of this._

As with before, Blitzkaiser called out. Never one for subtlety, that Blitzkaiser.

"I see you!" He yelled. It pained Booken's ears, like a whole band playing into them. "And I'm unarmed as of yet! Now, we can do this one of two ways, and you know which two ways those are!"

There was a groaning: that roar of metal when something large is moving that shouldn't be. Surely this couldn't be happening almost the exact same way twice? Or was it just the only way these things would happen? Booken doubted that. Something else would happen. Or something might not happen.

Something happened. But not in any way expected. Multiple things that transitioned fluidly, and in a blink.

Booken seemed to hear it before it entered existence. "Down!" She screamed quickly. Her husband and daughter hit the deck beyond the register of the naked eye, and she herself was hugging the ground by the time she heard her own voice. The Monger got the message, but certainly not before his rear side was peppered with lead. Each round sparked and sputtered, clanking and burning orange. He groaned with the force of it.

The roughly star-shaped shadow blocking out the sun whooshed and disappeared. And then it circled back with an equal blasting scream to it. Bouken strained to see Blitzkaiser crawling into a kneel. The star was a jet, and it was clearly very arrogant, swooping to his enemy's level. The Monger, clearly predicting this, sprung from his kneel into a leap, catching the jet. Under the weight of the giant, the smaller airborne attacker slammed to the ground. He Transformed as he made contact and the two rolled together, away from the three humans. Booken had the urge to follow them, and had forgotten not to follow her impulses. Hiroyuki didn't see her. Aika did.

The two looked like one big spiky mesh, rolling about and flattening everything around them to fine powder. They shoved each other apart long enough to see that the enemy ambusher had wings. And guns. Their own traveling companion had neither. The winged attacker raised his cannons, but Bouken saw a long girder of some sort slam into his cockpit chest, shattering its windowpiece. He fell back into some small building and caved it. The Monger was on top of him, bringing down punch after punch. The attacker spoke between blows, again in perfect Japanese. And fluent sarcasm. It was scratchy and high-pitched.

"Oh, great Autobot-sama-" Punch. "-Have mercy-" Crunch. "-On my poor soul!" Total defiance in his voice. He was begging for more. The Monger was not letting up. But in his focus on inflicting pain and damage, he didn't notice his enemy's arms. The cannons mounted to the upper arms were being raised.

"Watch out!" Booken yelled. He didn't turn his head to look at her, as expected. The jet raised his arm and fired. Not lethal, but he was trying to get away and it did the trick. He blasted off with what appeared to be jet boots, and the giant caught him by the ankle. He performed a kind of stylized slam, bringing his enemy down on his stomach. A large blue foot secured his prey.

"Ooh, so strong, Autobot-sama!" He kicked and flailed teasingly without pause. Once he seemed to hunch his back and push Blitzkaiser's leg up; he must've tried Transforming. Even this was completely futile. Bouken was developing image of both of them smiling, for the opposite reasons. Dealer and dealt of suffering. Not at all like the last time.

Booken saw Aika now, stepping among the rubble of the flattened building the flyer had used as a mattress. Booken saw her. And you know how mothers are.

"Aika!" She yelled. Aika looked at her, which she had intended. What she didn't was for Blitzkaiser to look up also. The flyer shifted his weight under his captor's foot with success now, turning to blast him again and hitting the mark. He was cackling as he became airborne.

"See ya! We'll set the dogs on you, you'll see!" He Transformed and was off. Blitzkaiser was on his feet and hurled another of those inexhaustible automobiles at the jet. It made contact, but the flyer only wavered, and kept moving. The Monger broke from a run into a full Transformation, but by then the jet was out of sight. The Autobot didn't care. He had a target, and if he was in a hurry to get away he wouldn't look back.

He didn't either.

* * *

The Seeker hadn't gone far, he knew it. But he was always just out of reach, it seemed. Too far behind. But he hadn't been spotted yet, it seemed. Or if he had, that was why his target had become lost.

He remembered his ion tracker. A fancy word his big-chip comrade in red had taught him that refers to the thing Transformers use like a dog who leads by smell. He could _smell_ his enemy Seeker. And like a dog following a scent, he forewent the path he was given and simply followed. Quite the sight, a bright red-and-blue truck plowing through buildings and leaving its own path of complete destruction is. He was proving quite the paradox: seemingly in stealthy pursuit but making all the racket possible for any creature.

No, that was a lie. He was never stealthy. No Monger was. Not their job. He was simply _following_, and should he keep up, subtlety was no object for him. Compared to the roar of one's engines practically shoving the audio of gravity-defying engines in their ears, would he need to be subtle?

And then the trail simply stopped cold. That was it. Following him at maximum speed, obstacles be damned to the Pit, only to drop off like his ion trail never existed. This couldn't be right. He detoured, backtracked, followed the trail up until that point, and... nothing.

He Transformed. He needed proper optics. Nothing. No Sonar, Infrared, X-ray, nothing. In anger, he brought a fist to the pavement. It might as well not even have been whole in the first place.

In truth, he'd had only the most basic of ideas where the Decepticons were based. From his orbital telemetry when he'd landed in the west, he'd seen a point east of there, and some north. He'd had no plan but simply head east from there when he'd met the human family. They might've known the area well enough to have seen it, but no, that much was determined quickly. They were dead weight, dropped in his pursuit, and now his pursuit had landed him nowhere, except perhaps a few miles closer to the target he couldn't see!

New plan: continue east. If any other Decepticons are encountered, try the same method on them. Someone in their ranks is a coward unlike any other, surely. It's in their nature, he considered with some cynicism.

_Not dogs, though. The mother had mentioned dogs._

Destronger dogs. The most dangerous hunting dogs in the universe, made in an image remarkably similar to the hunting dogs of this world. They might still be the most dangerous pet in the universe, if time was good to them, and deadlier than he'd ever seen. And if the title was still to be believed, they were a breed of Transformer. He'd never seen it before, and doubted he'd want to.

_And she'd seemed to know when the Seeker was coming. She gave you warning. Either she's got the gift of foresight or she's a Decepticon._

He doubted the former, but the latter was unthinkable. For its many flaws he'd observed from the scouts alone, what he'd seen was certainly not Decepticon material. And foresight was rare, but so too are Mongers, and Masters. And its numbers in this species had yet to be determined.

Still, he'd left her, and her kin. From what he'd seen, that was unforgivable, and he'd just have to live with it. There may be humans from here on out, but mostly the dead ones, or Decepticon slaves. He was closer to his target now than ever before, and no step back would be worth it.

He Transformed and continued on his way. If any Seekers or other Decepticons were to be encountered now, he'd fight them without distraction. Destronger dogs? If not in a group, he could take them on one by one. He'd estimated there to be some adverse forces, and to face them without help. That was the Monger's job, after all. He would do his job.

* * *

Booken had run after the alien. He'd just kept going. She had called out, telling him to stop. Would he have his version of ears in his vehicle form? She didn't know and cared even less. In the simplest and most selfish wording possible, he was her ticket, and he was leaving them. What was he her ticket for? She didn't know, but as she ran, that was why she'd joined him, she realized!

But five-foot tires have no equivalent in human feet, and soon he was gone after his quarry. And he, her own quarry, was far beyond her legs and her eyes. Exhausted, she found herself wondering exactly what had happened over these few minutes. Their escort of sorts had left them, as she should've seen it coming. He wouldn't be coming back.

_Remember what you can still do._

She began walking back to meet her husband and daughter.

"What happened?" Hiroyuki asked. In response, Booken began to gasp erratically, shakily. And then the words came. Some of them, at least.

"Blitzkaiser went after the jet that attacked. He's probably not coming back." Hiroyuki frowned without the least hint of surprise. She felt her throat seem to turn to sandpaper, and her face seem to melt from her skull. She was sobbing now. That was all she would get out. Anything else to add? That she understood now her own selfish desire to see what was at the heart of this all, trampling the safety of her family for the trivial personal gain of simply knowing more? That she had trusted a veritable killer from some world she could never imagine to lead the three of them to safety through the densest of hostile territories one could fathom? All this made her worthless as a spouse, unfit to be a mother and worthy of any negative reaction she got? She certainly felt all of these things, that much was certain. But saying it was a whole other matter. That would _really_ make it all true, wouldn't it?

Instead, her husband, who could typically be depicted as the negative to her positive, knew how to hold up his end of the inverse. She expected anger, bitter affirmation that he'd been right all along, scolding for straying them from their route.

"Are we all safe?" Booken, blurry-eyed, nodded, blinking rapidly as she did. "Can we always continue on our way?" Another nod. "That sounds more like a reason to be happy than anything else." That did it.

"You're not angry?"

"No. If we get angry whenever we make a mistake, given the way things are, we'd never make it anywhere." He called over her shoulder. "Aika-chan!" She came running at the sound of her name, and not far. She'd been within earshot the whole time. Bouken should've called her first. But that was just feeding into her husband's logic. They'd never make it anywhere like that.

"We'll just resume?" Hiroyuki nodded.

You'd wonder how Blitzkaiser's departure could be forgotten so quickly, but with only their rediscovered goal of reaching the coast to fixate upon, it seemed like they'd never strayed. And in truth, they were within twelve miles of where we first met them in this landscape. Progress had been even slower than expected. Hiroyuki was now, at least, optimistic they'd make good time. They would.

* * *

* * *

Colton had walked into the hangar bay, not hoping to find anything in particular but knowing he was looking for something. He found Grimlock and Skids. They were outfitting themselves with what appeared to be their own armor over the bed of a cargo truck like a worktable. He'd sure hope so, too. No soldier would go charging into a war zone against killer aliens in or alongside a deep blue Toyota. That same Toyota opened his voice-box, or whatever it was they had to speak with.

"Shouldn't you be very busy right now?"

"No. Besides, I might be hoping to see more about what you're making for us. It's going to be the thing keeping us alive at this time, right?"

"Surplus to requirement," Grimlock growled: He found it unnecessary. Or perhaps boasting it would do more than just keep them alive. Or both. Skids, on the other hand, seemed more ready to share.

"We've finished your exo-suits, now I'm working on ours. Grimlock?" The Autobot car held up several pieces of something gunmetal-grey to the giant, and he took them and applied them to his arms, torso, legs and head. They seemed to expand from nowhere and encompass parts of his body. Not full-body, just covering the essential spots. He Transformed, the armor Transforming with him, and he was a spitting image of a golden Godzilla. This time the monster would be _saving_ Japan, albeit likely with the same collateral damage.

"Scary," Colton commented casually. "Your armor turns you into a blue lion, or a racecar?" Skids grinned, and he figured the robot was perhaps a bit pissed already. "I'm joking," he added, and the Autobot dismissed it all with a single wave of his right hand.

"Sure, laugh all you want, but I can always rig your suit to fail. So many ways I can do that!" He was still grinning as he said this. Colton had to give his own curve of the mouth at that too.

"So, what are you? A five-man kill squadron? Elite soldiers? Just some travelers with guns?" Colton typically would be described as not the least bit curious about things beyond what he needed to know, but there was that allure of something that had never occurred to him before. That same thing that, unbeknownst to him, was a permanent resident in Boto Bouken's mind. Skids wasn't too keen on it anyway.

"Not worth talking about. You're a soldier, and some things are just above your pay grade, as they say." He pulled out some large tool with a blue-hot tip and now went to work on the truck/table itself.

Grimlock, still in his Godzilla form, leaned in front of Colton and lowered his head to the human's level. He issued a low growl.

"I'll bite. But you have to answer one thing first," Skids agreed after a moment. "What's Galvanized Iron?"

"It's a term from World War One or so, and used as a codename for a squadron I was a part of. Black ops. I actually came out of it with a nickname." He chucked a little without any desire to repeat. "Hated every time they said it. Six months ago the team was disbanded and we were all transferred here. Apparently someone thought we'd be useful watching the ocean skyline."

"We're not much different. Travel around the universe, take forms similar to the locals, and either stay hidden or engage in full-out war. Often both. A lot of that time that was because of the Monger."

"Monger. I think Prowl called me a Monger when he first saw me."

"And he was wrong." Clearly, but how inaccurately had it been used?

"In our language, a warmonger provokes and encourages war with other powers. What's it mean to you?"

"That's why we chose it. Translation's just the act of finding the closest meaning, after all. In a unit like ours, the Monger's job is to go straight to the heart of things, and trample everything in its way. Often times they don't listen to anyone, no commanding officer, no higher power. Just tell them to do a task, and you might as well take full responsibility for all damage that ensues."

"All the dirty jobs," Grimlock added. He was still in his ridiculous and imposing Godzilla form, and hearing him talk about the Monger and the dirty jobs with the implication of being beyond even him, it was painting a pretty clear picture.

"And he's in Japan right now," Colton sighed with some discontentment. A lone weapon of mass destruction, clambering about into enemy territory with no regard for anything. There wouldn't be much to save.

"Yeah, he is. You think Grimlock acts - and is - tough and destructive, and he most definitely is; and it doesn't take any empath to see all you humans think that way, but even he's just a soldier. A Monger... it's a force, and ours is no exception. Point and release, you could say."

"Do my superiors know?"

"They have an idea. Yet here you still are, coming with us to _save the day_." Colton left. Behind him, Skids was cackling a bit now. He found that last part very funny.

* * *

* * *

The destructive force in question was, in fact, on his way to the heart of things, just as they said. Monger Blitzkaiser, on the highway to Hell, and he was lost!

He'd changed back to his humanoid form and was trudging along quite slowly. He was tired and didn't want to admit it. And of course, that last bit about him being no exception? Likely exaggerations. By comparison, he was the runt of the Mongers' litter. Perhaps he was just delirious.

It was night now, and the stars were overhead like so many crystals of the coldest and most indifferent light. Once he thought he heard the fighter jet, or perhaps a different Seeker, but both times they'd eluded him. Taunted him, maybe. Knowing Decepticons, that was by no means out of the question. But the dogs? They'd arrived, too.

He knew a Destronger dog when he heard one, and they too had adapted for Earth. How funny was that? Killers with no reason to hide, servant to the Decepticons, yet they needed to be accustomed to the Earth! Their bark was like the grinding of steel with the concussion of a cannon discharge. They'd been let loose, exactly as the Seeker had promised. He switched to non-visual optic trackers. Yes, even those useless ion trackers. Already they were close. The closest was maybe three miles from him. This endless ruined urban sprawl was the ideal forest to hunt in: low visibility, tight maneuverability, many shortcuts and backtracks between places. If there were multiples, they could surround him. He was Monger, but there's a rhyme that would be conceived by some historian later: _The Monger wished he'd lasted longer against those damned Destrongers!_

He did wish he could last longer. He had no choice.

He Transformed and began heading east, fast as he could. Not here, not at night.

One overtook him. Just one, as he was crossing a bridge over a shallow lake, only eight miles later. It had smashed the bridge's foundations and sent him tumbling. By the time he was up it was upon him, faster than he could ever have been ready, fangs digging into his hands as he kept the monster's maw out of range of his head and chest. With some struggle he broke its jaw open, and with a well-placed blow ripped the useless appendage from its head altogether. Like that Biblical Samson he wielded the lower jaw as a weapon, and impaled it through its foreleg, crippling it. Then he used a piece of the bridge the dog had smashed and stabbed it through the chest. It continued to flail wildly all the while, never seeming to get the message that it needed to die. The Monger left it a kicking and broken pile of so many living metal parts to sink into the lake and be lost forever.

Another Destronger, this one even more cunning, had run him off the road a few miles after that. Blitzkaiser had rolled end over end, stunned and unable to Transform for several seconds too long as the beast rolled about on top of him. He'd planted exactly one blow on this one: a good hook that shattered the left eye. This was clearly a sensitive Spark, because it whimpered in pain as if expecting pity. The Monger had none. But the dog had bashed him up worse than first thought: his right leg buckled numbly. Before him, this disabled dog waited, observing patiently, head cocked to one side in that curious way. Angrily, the Monger had made another swing that came nowhere within fifteen feet of the dog. Given time, it left him. He returned to his vehicle form, unable to do anything but retreat for now, and to stay off his injured leg. He encountered no other dogs that night.

So much for a force beyond a simple soldier, it seemed.

* * *

* * *

_ **The Transformers will return after these messages.** _


	5. Micro Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Galvanized Iron finally make their way through Japan. The Monger reunites with the Boto family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's always been some questioning as to why Transformers choose certain modes. Well, here's part of the answer. Also, dogs.

** _We now return to the Transformers._ **

* * *

* * *

That night, the Monger had been attacked by Destrongers, and at that same time, the Boto family was back at it on a cross-country hike to safety. It was a new day in the same morning: their first day back on track, and by noon they'd walked a good six miles east, with no encounter of Transformers, humans, anyone. No distractions. Hiroyuki had continued to fiddle with his radio, and Aika was prone to wandering off and reappearing. Strangely enough, with everything this scared them not a bit. She'd rejoin them all in due time.

Booken was having a little trouble, understandably. It made no sense, just being able to leave this all behind and continue on their way like nothing had ever happened. It made no sense how that could happen and just un-happen. But then again, she was no longer in this for what made sense, nor what her instincts of any kind were telling her. She was in this for her husband and daughter, and that meant not everyone got what they wanted. Somehow it seemed she was rubbing this in her own face. Self-punishment? She'd definitely seemed to have earned it.

Why not take a car? It didn't seem right, that they never had, she thought. Had she done that? Told Hiroyuki a car was a bad idea? It'd certainly cut down on time, but there had to be a reason somewhere. And how she'd seemed to have never considered that before rankled her to bits. All these fine automobiles with their fuel still all sloshed up inside them, requiring only their doors to be opened and their engines to be restored. That first blast had been a specialized form of EMP meant to disable all electricity, but it wasn't permanent; just needed a little spark, that was all. Booken knew none of how that would work, but it was easy enough to guess, she thought. What was stopping them?

"Why don't we try a car?" Booken asked her husband. He gave her just a blank sort of look. Either he was asking how none of them had thought of it or why she still thought they could, but neither one could be more indecipherable from the other.

"You told us not to."

"You believed me?"

"You'd proven we could listen to you."

"And now you've proven to me we shouldn't. Why not?"

"That's incorrect. It was your... ability that got us this far."

"So you're suggesting I'm not trusting it enough, or I've lost the ability?" He gave a shrug.

"Perhaps neither. But no matter what it's telling you, going back would be both counterproductive and extremely dangerous. In all likelihood all of us would die."

"But should we take a car?" He thought on this a moment.

"Yes," he finalized. She nodded. They'd just passed a five-year-old Lamborghini Countach in relatively undisturbed condition. It had to be a kind of sign.

"How long will it take to get it operational again?"

"I don't know," her husband told her. "We might not even be able to get it operational at all, but we simply don't know much." He reached for the door, and it was unlocked. Next they opened the hood, and now Aika had rejoined them, observing with that trademark silent curiosity of hers.

"Could we-" Bo0ken never got the chance to finish the sentence. The roar of engines and smacking and crashing of metal shoving aside metal drowned out any chance she had. As you well know, the Monger Blitzkaiser was hopelessly unprepared for the danger of the Destronger Dogs, and broke the expectations of a Monger by forcing his own retreat. And knowing the way things happen, it may come as no surprise that he passed them. In truth, he'd actively sought them out. If the Destrongers reached them before he did, they'd be torn into progressively smaller chunks until they reached nanoscopic size. That likely was no exaggeration, either.

They knew to get out of his way, and he stopped beside them, his passenger-side door opening as it always did. The speaker inside told them to "Get in! Now!" Booken hoisted Aika up and turned back to see her husband.

"Don't do it!" He yelled in response, to Booken. Then to the giant. "Leave us alone!"

"Do you want to see your family torn limb from limb by metal dogs forged from the fires of whatever you call Hell?" Booken was already strapping in, and this monologue got her husband climbing pretty quickly. The massive red, white, blue and gold truck of some sort that was Monger Blitzkaiser burned rubber as the dogs were beginning to gain. Had Hiroyuki stalled for another three seconds he'd have ten-inch fangs digging through his ribs, and the last thing he'd see were the brilliant orange eyes of the blazing Forge. Thankfully, however, they were merely on the run from that exact thing. And what Blitzkaiser knew better than to admit to the humans was that he had a practical reason for finding them: he truly was certain that Boto Booken could help guide him.

* * *

...

* * *

Now it was time. They would depart for Japan in two cargo jets, and loading now under the set lighting you see when everyone parks and leaves their lights on. The forces of Galvanized Iron, including the poorly-named G.I. Joe Colton, had now all seen their new armaments, which included the kind of blasters you saw in second-rate science fiction films and cartoons, and even made the goofy noises. _Pew pew, ye fiendish forces of caricatured evil!_ Colton felt silly holding one.

"Seems kinda hard to believe," a teammate told him as they approached the plane. "Never really hits you till now, does it? What we're doing?" He shook his head in response.

"No, it does not. But we're doing it, and it's a job. I don't recognize you. Got a name?"

"I do, but you'll be referring to me as Duke. Hawk slid me into Galvanized Iron just today." He held out his hand, and Colton shook it.

"Hawk. General Abernathy's old nickname?"

"Yeah. He told me you're the one and only Joe." Now he chuckled unpleasantly.

"Only to him and the rest of the unit. They all love nicknames, I hate it. Guess that's their charm."

"Maybe, _Joe_." He shook his head, dissatisfied. They broke their parallel walking formation and approached their seats on opposite sides of the plane.

The rear ramp dropped and they strapped in. Somehow, Prowl and Perceptor had also fit in here. Being roughly about four times their height each, this was clearly a feat. Except it wasn't, given they were aliens who could shapeshift. They probably just folded down some mass: a Travel-sized Mode. Aside from their two Autobots and the mobilized manpower of G.I., it actually seemed quite sparse. How?

"Why not just go in vehicle form?" Another guy was asking Prowl. He looked a bit grumpy, even impatient. Yeah, working with humans seemed to have an effect like that.

"Because," he sighed with a metallic ring, "we can exchange sentences in vehicle form, and drive on water if we get shot down. Hell, we can shoot back by the time our tires meet ocean! Now take your seat, soldier, we have a job to do." _Nice guy,_ Colton thought. But genuinely nice military types were hard to come by. They were probably all just a bunch of swaggering egotists, him included, but there was always some base to it. Honor, code. The juxtaposition of black and white to become the opposite of grey, and you have a military man. Or maybe he was being pretentious, who knew. Certainly not him. Focus on the job, then you can wax philosophical to your id's content.

He took his seat. In this plane there was something approaching two dozen and the two Autobots, plus the pilots. They probably had the majority, seeing as how Grimlock was on the other plane. Transformation was one thing, but how _did _he fit in there?

"Why not just take forms that can fly?" He suddenly asked aloud, not meaning to. Perceptor answered him this time. He hadn't heard much from the red Autobot.

"Why can't you just wear a jetpack or rocket boots, or a big rotor over your head whenever you need it? We simply can't do some things because they are impractical. You may consider our grounding impractical, but from a different perspective we made what might be our most logical choices for alternate forms."

"A dinosaur, a big microscope, a police car and a leisure van," Colton's teammate from earlier called out. "Pardon the tone, but that seems mighty inconsistent in terms of function, and where this mission is going it's not going to do much good disguise-wise."

"Grimlock chose his form purely for combat, Prowl was thinking of future activity on this world, and I happened to retain a previous alternate form, albeit with some changes. Who knows why Skids chose a van." He now halved his volume and leaned in. "He might really be crazy, none of us would be surprised."

Duke looked over his shoulder to Colton, and he could see that childish sort of "Ain't this guy weird" expression written on the new guy's face. But, of course that unspoken question needed to verbal answer: they were aliens after all, all the more disconnected from them by attribute of being _almost_ human. Wow, he needed to write some books to rival Freud. Conscious, subconscious and id indeed.

* * *

They were off by 2300 hours, exactly as estimated. No engine troubles, no turbulence, no last-minute changes. Exactly as planned. Straight into the belly of the beast, the front lines, whatever expression historians were going to use when describing this mission.

That is, if anyone were to be alive to tell this story, much less know about it. That unifying force the Autobots felt: the threat of the Decepticons? Here Galvanized Iron was, a pack of tough and very military specimens of the name _homo sapiens, _rallying behind that same sensation.

* * *

* * *

The mammoth of a thing that was Monger Blitzkaiser in vehicle form could not continue forever. But behind them and soon to surround them on all sides were the Destronger dogs: a dream coming true for Boto Booken. You stop, you die.

And 'the gift' being the mysterious and unconscious thing that it was, had decided to fall under the category of 'survival instincts'. Booken was realizing now how much of those she'd forgotten. Her dreams before the end of the world as she knew it, guiding them to safety when the shapeshifters from the sky arrived, the trickling images of a world beyond her, all of it lost and somehow returning now.

Right on cue, too: Go left in two blocks. Booken herself had no idea what this meant, but then again, to stop and question it would be the end of its usefulness.

"Left now," she blurted. The Monger obeyed, swinging his passengers into each other as he swerved like a drunkard. They had entered an underground parking complex, or something similar. An image popped in as if it had always been there; an image of falling rocks. Collapse.

"Support beam," she blurted again, and again the mech understood. He slammed his rear end into a support beam and behind them the light was snuffed out as the entryway was shut up forever. The dogs would need time to dig them out, at least.

_(But a construction team - )_

The Autobot screeched to a fast halt, and as always his door opened to let them escort themselves out. They did, and Hiroyuki collapsed to the concrete, gasping and panting like so many strenuous physical activities had piled into one. Aika was fine, it seemed, but being so mute meant there was so much that went unnoticed. Far too subtle for most people's tastes.

"We can't stay here," Booken said aloud.

"No," Blitzkaiser confirmed. "But you were right. The dogs have been blocked off from us for now. They only need time to dig through, but for now we can rest."

"Right," Hiroyuki agreed, regaining himself.

They waited there for some time, with Hiroyuki once again trying at his radio. The Monger observed there was some sort of talismanic quality to the thing. Little Aika stared at the giant, and he had to admit he felt somewhat unnerved by her silence. He'd seen the same thing in valiant warriors, prisoners seeking redemption, other children who've seen too much too soon. Booken slept, and the giant had no doubt she was dreaming. Of what, no one could ever hope to know. Himself? He needed a strategy, beyond simply evading the Destrongers and keeping a clairvoyant handy. And without a plan, even a clairvoyant companion would be useless. Should he ask help of these humans? Perhaps. But for now, let them rest. He needed it too. That leg would heal itself, but it needed time. His anatomy might've been obsolete by now, compared to the Decepticons he'd fought. But he would fight regardless. That's the job of the Monger, after all.

Booken was awake now. He might ask her about any ideas she might have from his cab speaker. Turns out he didn't need to.

"We need a dog of our own," she said. He understood, and agreed. This symbiosis would turn out to be simply the pointing out of ideas, maybe. It would certainly be precarious, and even decision a risk even without her advice. In addition, he'd be bringing the whole family along for the ride if he was to take _one_. Maybe she had some other way of seeing the future as well.

One hour had passed. They would leave now. The Destrongers would be in here within half an hour at most. And considering what Booken had just advised, maybe that was exactly as it needed to be. But they couldn't fight them in here, where they would burst through in droves and leave no room for anything. He opened his passenger-side door again, and they climbed in on cue, in exactly the same order they seemed to always have gotten in. Aika first, Booken next to her, Hiroyuki bringing up the rear and holding their bag of supplies in his lap. He slammed the door shut and, with some regained strength, his massive four sets of wheels spun and squealed crazily. They burst through a wall with some complacency, and were running on wheels down another street, just like every other wrecked street. Behind them, the Destrongers were already sensing that their prey had flown. One among them was the one with the dead left eye.

* * *

* * *

Now we see something new: the perspective of the destroyer. Devastator.

It had little higher thought, no imagination, its mind completely impoverished save its impulses, as one might see the most feral of animals. It walked on two legs, and it had two arms, and like many Transformers, vehicle parts dangled freely from its body. It was a surprisingly colorful creature: green, purple, bits of orange, red and black. Ironically, it was a creature made from tools of construction: vehicles of this world in their strikingly out-of-place colors, meshed into that single slow consciousness whose name would translate literally into "Reaper of Devastation" but approximated as what it was.

Today, Devastator was quiet, observing. Below it, the world stretched out in bowing to its ruler. And it thought the wreckage it reaped was good. This was why it was a Decepticon: to revel in that power of taking. It could take order, it could take life, it could take freedom, and it would do all gladly. And none of this could ever even be comprehended by its own mind, only felt for what it was.

Yes, this is, as you could've guessed, the creature which Booken dreamt of. And one of its many components - a longnecked crane truck - was that first infernal voice Booken had thought she heard as she ran for her life. But that voice, Hook, was gone for now, and probably wouldn't be back till the Primes came home, as the saying goes. Part of that grand whole, that predatory shape, that murderous _Gestalt._

Eventually Devastator grew bored and uneasy in the silence, and it knocked over a skyscraper. It both knew and cared that inside, a radio disc jockey had gotten his legs pinned after leaving his radio station and hoping to hide out here. Hiroyuki would've likely thanked him in person had they ever met, for replaying those military radio signals after the blackout and attack for as long as he had, but now he'd get no chance in this life. Knock him over too, listen to him splat. Not satisfactory, but no one can pine away forever for chaos.

The Seeker returned now. Devastator neither knew nor cared his name, and in spite of their shared allegiance would've gladly squashed him as it had that disc jockey. But there must have been some restraint in place, because it was just standing at attention, awaiting the words to fly. The Seeker liked to talk and Devastator hated to listen. Words, words!

"As you know, I, Starscream-sama, have encountered a Monger, and put up a good fight. I would like you to find him and treat him as you would the lowliest human for unfairly besting me!" Most of this would fall to deaf receptors, but the message was clear, and contradictory. Another impossible restraint: Devastator must stay here. Devastator must guard.

"I, Starscream-sama, need Devastator to hunt down and destroy this Monger! And then we shall have no resistance that can stop us, and nothing can harm _it._ Don't you want that, simpleton?" He had insulted Devastator. Restrained, it nodded. But this was lies: it wanted that thrill of homicide, of genocide, of mindless destruction and carnage. Let the Monger gather his forces and make things interesting, for all it could care. But it knew this was an order. And even in the easiest of feats, there would be pleasure. Just ask the once-human pulp between the slabs at its very feet. It would treat the Monger as it would the lowliest human, and as it would Starscream if it could, or even the entire pitiful remains of the returned Autobots. Good. They died long ago, and let them stay that way.

Devastator began to walk, ready and aiming to swat aside or trample its supposed commander if he did not get out of its way. Starscream sidestepped in cautious obedience. Another animal, he thought, and was right, and was glad for it. Too stupid to want to usurp me.

But the creature turned back, and he would have sworn its crimson band of an eye stared into his frame. This creature was too stupid to be dangerous, but smart enough to be a danger. And it would trample him, given the chance. That was part of the reason he'd implanted a control module in its simpleton brain, after all.

Booken had seen it first, now you've witnessed it. Forget the Decepticon Gestalt for now, and return to Monger Blitzkaiser, the Boto family, and the dogs.

* * *

* * *

The dogs had split up. Some form of on-the-ground triangulation: pick up more than one possible trail, follow, chomp down at both ends. The Destronger with the shattered optic was among the pack, picking among the debris, finding a small trail. It was lured by a drip of motor oil and a torn fabric of clothing from which it received a DNA extract. That same extract was to be found in smeared blood on an iron rod uprooted when a building decided it didn't want to stand anymore. It followed these doggedly, exactly as trained - and exactly as intended.

It followed into a tunnel, which it knew had collapsed at the mouth by the darkness, and the crumbling of the world behind it into nothingness. It didn't care. Its goal was forward, and it didn't care about the light snuffed out at the end of the tunnel. Even if its dead eye had handled most of the visual aid, it could smell. Following the trail before it so intently, it missed its own target: the Monger Blitzkaiser, burrowed and latched to the wall. He had a chain wrapped around his hand, ready to drop and get the creature's attention. It clattered and clinked to the floor like one chain was a million links raining on the pavement.

He leapt on the Destronger who, startled, started his evil barking. Blitzkaiser reached for its throat, seeking to cut off that wretched sound before he could alert his fellow hunting animals; he did not succeed. Instead he brought his left foot down hard on the much smaller creature's back, and it sank beneath his weight. A little resistance, but it was in no position to ask for the wiggle-room to fight back. Easier than expected, even in the dark against a half-blood creature. It was already whimpering into the darkness. But that was good. It was feeling every nanosecond of its pain, and pain makes all things submissive. And quiet enough for its report not to leave this place, how considerate.

"You're mine now," he commanded. "Or you will die." A smaller, lighter whimper, like the squealing of an old hinge. It understood. "I will release my foot, but you will not go, Destronger. If you go, you will die, and you will never hunt again." Smaller. "I will give you a name - Terrorbite - a pun, but appropriate. You will respond to your name, Destronger."

It tensed at the neck: a gesture of nodding. Even smarter than he thought. He lifted his foot, but the dog did not move. Not even a little. This one must've been the submissive softie of the pack: with any other Destronger he would've likely had to kill them as they would simply refuse to be taken alive by anybody. Respect for him after surviving their first encounter?

"You will stand when your name is called," he ordered. "Stand, Terrorbite." He heard the scraping of concrete and scratching of other materials as the Destronger - now broken into an Autobot - rose to meet the level of its - _his _\- new master.

"I have a job for you. When it's finished, you will likely die. But I doubt you creatures were ever alive."

He emerged on the other end of the tunnel, with the chain locked around its - _his_ \- neck. It purred excitedly when it saw the three humans. Had any of them spent enough time with a dog to recognize this for what it was, they'd be laughing happily rather than with apprehension. Yes, the Monger had done exactly as Booken had said he'd need to, but given how much was still in question this did little to ease any of them. And that purr was an alien purr: could mean "you look delicious", could mean "I'll murder you all no matter what you taste like."

Aika saw something in Terrorbite's remaining eye. Even she didn't know what it was.

* * *

"Does he Transform as well?" Hiroyuki asked. The Monger gazed at him sternly, with what the other Autobots would recognize as a scowl, and realized the man was right. He gave a tug on the dog's neck, and he craned his head in a way that would snap a normal dog's neck.

"No. Not like me, anyway." This was all the answer he was asking for: a close-ended 'no', and that was it.

"How will he affect our travel?" Booken asked now. The dog was eyeing her with its single optic, needle teeth scraping one another as it eyed prey. This was the one from whom the trail had been found. Blitzkaiser pulled his chain, harder now and with intent to punish. Terrorbite whimpered a little.

Blitzkaiser Transformed, still gripping the chain in his left hand, and came to his armored mammoth form with the dog in tow, connected by a chain that seemed to start nowhere. A quirk of the giant's shapeshifting biology?

"Does that answer your question? Get in." They did. And they were quickly underway. This dog - Terrorbite - was not to be a deterrent but a companion in battle, but they encountered nothing for a long time. The Destronger-Autobot dog had some trouble with the chain and the constant run in captive pursuit of the mammoth vehicle that was the Monger, but nothing that would stop them, although it might slow them down. But given the amount of clutter left by the entirety of Japan in its exodus, and the strength-over-speed aspect of the Monger's own build, this was hardly anything.

"Can you hear us?" Booken suddenly asked.

"Clearly," the cab speakers replied as one, surrounding the family with his voice.

"May we ask you some questions?"

"What have you been doing this whole time you've traveled with me?" Rhetorical question; the answer would be less so.

"We've been learning. I'm curious. Would it bother you?"

"It would, but it wouldn't distract me, if that's what you mean."

"Right," Booken confirmed. First question: "Where do you come from?" He took a moment to reply, considering this lengthily.

"I don't remember, and considering what my species is, it doesn't matter because it could be anywhere." The wolf-thing Booken had imagined: Blitzkaiser on another world. Adapted. _Turbofox_, the wolf-thing had been meant to resemble.

"When will your team be arriving?" Hiroyuki asked now.

"Not until it's too late and we've already finished. It's my job to have my mission done before they can arrive and essentially do it for me."

And so questions went. That was how the Boto family would pass the time for at least an hour, before they were all forced to stop again. Terrorbite had broken loose.

* * *

* * *

They had liftoff. As you remember, it had not been rocky or turbulent. The weather was fair; it was not what they would have to worry about. But just like the Boto family, for the forces of Galvanized Iron, there was little to pass the time with but to interrogate one another, as people did.

"What all are you capable of turning into?" He asked of either Autobot to answer. Perceptor did.

"We can choose anything, but there are numerous limitations, particularly mass and number. Once we've taken a form we can only transition between that form and a more mobile body. The name of this body translates roughly to 'Robot Mode', while the form we chose is called our 'Alternate Mode'. Skids is in Robot Mode now, but has the Alternate Mode of a goofy van."

\- ("Heard that," Skids mumbled. Colton cracked a grin, as did Duke and some of the others.) -

"We can examine anything, scan it thoroughly to find its dimensions and inner workings, and we... become what we see. But to overwrite your form for a new one can become long and painful, so we prefer to choose our forms for long-term use."

"Y'know, it's funny," Colton said, "how you say your objective is in Japan, and these Decepticons went through us to get it, yet you can't tell us what it is. And Prowl's not exactly considering that we need to know what it is we're getting. That's just how we operate. So what is it?" Perceptor eyed in with glowing blue optics, and examined the other soldiers with the same question written in their eyes. Earning his name, he missed none of it.

"I don't know," he said. "_We_ don't know, except that it could mean the survival of the Autobots, and the upheaval of the Decepticons. It drew us here and all we know is we need to get it out of their hands. Is that a good enough answer for all of you?"

"No," Colton answered, once again speaking for the whole group, "but we can always find out when we see it." Now he addressed his fellow men. "Does that sound good?" The soldiers looked at each other thoughtfully, uncharacteristic of soldiers but natural and expected for lifelong friends who can read one another.

"Yes sir!" They replied in unison.

"Yes sir," Skids echoed.

"Yes sir," Perceptor finalized. "Would you like to resume asking questions now? You humans certainly are impressively curious when you want to be." Colton nodded.

"Are all of you this big? Or is there something of a big size differential?"

"I wouldn't know," Skids replied before Perceptor got the chance. "He doesn't know either. We've been out of contact with our race for years, more years than you can know or even us. A lot can happen with a race based so heavily in adaptation."

"What Skids could also have said was that last time we could see, we were all roughly the same size. But... there begins a philosophical debate about what constitutes a creature's size. To us, you will always come across as... micro-men, comparatively. And in the end, it doesn't mean much, anyway. The same can be said for so much else, given the right perspective. Not you, not your species, not our own species' war across a million worlds like this."

The rest of the flight was fairly silent, as you could've guessed.

* * *

* * *

** _The Transformers will return after these messages._**


	6. The Dogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Galvanized Iron and the Boto family head towards inevitable battles.

** _We now return to The Transformers._ **

* * *

* * *

They encountered their first true roadblock: a toppled building laid methodically across the entire road, stretching at least a hundred feet in all directions. The Monger would normally have just plowed through without much issue, and on his own the captive Destronger could have done the same, the two together was unlikely to make a happy pair. Blitzkaiser, in keeping with the behavior typical of Mongers, slammed into it in full force, and burst through the other end amidst a big shower of glass, concrete and steel. He came to a rest with the destroyed structure fifty feet behind them, startling the already-startled humans in his cab. He gave them his typical order to dismount, and they did.

"Stay close if you want, but it'll be better to find cover," he ordered. The sleeping (or dead, if you prefer) skyscraper behind them seemed a viable option. Booken took Aika in her arms and she and her husband sprinted for the place where the Monger had just made his own opening. And it was as they were running that Boto Booken realized their problem.

Terrorbite had broken loose.

The Monger could easily take down a world if he so wished, but taking things alive was never easy. Keeping things alive was even harder, and he'd shouldered both tedious tasks out of necessity. The proof of this was when he Transformed, and the chain returned wrapped around his left hand with perhaps only a third of its length with him. The other two thirds had either snapped cleanly off or would be lying in gnawed bits for a ways back, in all likelihood. The thing which had been his harness to the creature was useless. Time for a different approach. He walked back the way they had come, through the small tunnel of the skyscraper while extending its height clearance enough for his head. Glass rained and steel groaned in those ways they always do, but the Boto family had chosen a good spot to hide and this did not touch them.

Blitzkaiser emerged on the other end and examined his surroundings. Terrorbite would still be here. He was no tracker or hunting dog, but his readings were certainly disclosing that in all likelihood there was nowhere else he could go or stay. His elder conditioning had won out, and this elder conditioning would have him do to the Autobot as he had before. And if that happened, Blitzkaiser would have to kill him. The trouble was how dangerous a single Destronger had proven. And worse still, he needed Booken to reach his target, and from his observation of humanity, could accurately predict that she would be unwilling to help him if her family was not safe. She would much rather die, and unlike some, she would mean it.

The human mother in question suddenly had another of those urges, and she once again could remind herself of why she followed these intuitions. She was standing by Blitzkaiser's left shin, and it took him several seconds to realize she was there. Her husband most definitely knew by this point, and most definitely was anxious for her safety. And then, by logic this time, she had a plan ready. She stole the Monger Blitzkaiser's signature greeting.

"Terrorbite-san!" She bellowed. He knew for certain he'd never told them the name he'd given their dog, but this did not surprise him in the least. But what followed? Definitely.

There had been a car they'd passed, just like many other cars they'd passed. It was, once again reminding her of the empty tourist fad it was, a Lamborghini Countach. A blue '82 Cosmic, to be exact. It had a certain attractiveness to it, untouched as it was, but it would not be what she was aiming for. She did, however, step over to it with a deliberate intent rarely seen from her, played up for the sake of getting this to work. "...At least, not like me," the Monger had said. It would be good to know exactly what that implied, and a chance to get the creature's attention.

It emerged slowly, seemingly from nowhere, as a Destronger may when it is certain its prey is trapped and helpless. It was moving towards Bouken and the blue sports car she hated. Blitzkaiser started to take a step but Bouken discouraged him.

"Stay back," she warned, keeping her gaze on the Destronger's face as she did. Her body was sending her any number of overlapping signals, all of which have evolved in humans to warn them of incoming dangers and mistakes. She was certainly no animal trainer, suffering even notable shortcomings with other humans that had earned her the epithet of 'eccentric', but this was something with roots in both maternal instinct and the much more consciously-based logical reasoning. The kicker was that she knew this dog would behave like an Earth animal, in the same way she knew the candy shop would keep them safe for the night all those months ago. Let him know your focus is on him, and he will focus on you, and will be a bit more suggestible because he's paying such close attention.

She had both hands raised as the one-eyed dog took one stride after another towards her, and once Terrorbite was within ten feet she began to lower her hands to the hood of the sports car. With his single eye seemingly immovable, his head dropped with the human's hands, and his gaze met the car.

He got the message.

Certainly more similar than the Monger Blitzkaiser's description would have you believe. He could Transform, as could a dog of what was some variation of the same genus, perhaps. Soon there were two blue 1982 Lamborghini Cosmic Countach cars on the cluttered road, one old and abandoned, the other with some unmistakable modifications suggestive of what we think of as raw power. Funnier still, this newly-emerged 'Cosmic Terrorbite' did not move forward to attack, or back to regroup. It remained in place this time, with Bouken smiling with some relief.

"How? Blitzkaiser wanted to know what Booken had done, and how the Destronger would be affected.

"Has taking a new form ever been used as reward among your species?" The Monger nodded. Beyond that, Bouken had no true explanation. But now she felt like she knew what the look Terrorbite had given her meant. He would listen to her.

"Not that," Blitzkaiser said. Booken did not understand, nor did he expect her to, but he didn't understand either. It wasn't what he'd meant.

On the window of the car, blacked out against the heavy tinting, was the rough shape of a face. Not understanding, Booken pointed it out to Blitzkaiser. He made no expression in response, save a narrowing of his eyes. He held up his arm to Booken and angled his shoulder towards her. Same insignia.

"He's made his allegiance. That's an Autobot mark." He made this official by dropping his remainder of the chain at his feet.

They drove on.

* * *

* * *

"For what I summed up to be the mouth of the group, you don't talk much, do ya?" Duke was asking Skids.

"A mouth knows when to run and when to shut up for others. Talk enough and you can let others talk; do it right and they can tell you anything you want to know."

"I'm no psychologist, but surely that can't be true."

"Have you ever heard of social engineering? Real, and extremely rooted in proven human habits."

"Sounds like a human skill," Colton added.

"We assimilate the ways of our target world. Social patterns, thought processes; not just a physical Transformation, but a psychological one: we are now _Adapto Sapiens_." Any G.I listening would have to admit this was invaluable under any military circumstance: infiltration, warfare and strategy, any number of things that would give the advantage of 'knowing by being'.

"We've fought Decepticons on countless worlds in this way, sometimes winning, often losing. A lot of the time it came down to the locals who would help us." At this, he began to indicate the human soldiers with his blue orbs.

"Why? What started this whole big war of yours?"

"We don't know. But whatever it was, it was worth atrocities, on both sides. But moreover, I think it made us what we are. Evidence would suggest we were just two halves of the same whole for a long time. Different paths from one choice, that's perhaps all," Skids said.

"How it always happens," a bearded soldier commented. "American Revolution, Civil War, Cold War. Those may have been multifaceted events but there was always a root."

"Look at us, a bunch of soldiers talking philosophy to pass the time!" Duke said, and gave a very short chuckle.

"That's no accident," Colton said. "We have guests, and I doubt soldiers can learn anything from meaningless small talk."

"I couldn't learn anything from your mom last night, but I'm a very educated man today!" A soldier on the far side of the plane yelled.

"Now, why'd you have to go and do that!" Colton protested.

The proximity alarms on the team's suits began to flash deep red.

"Exo-suits on, team!" Colton commanded. Galvanized Iron had no _de jure_ leader, but in _de facto_ terms he was it, and always had been. They did as they commanded, as did the two Autobots, sliding on a series of panels he recognized but was not certain the others did.

"Yo, Joe!" A soldier yelled. "Yo, Joe!" Another added. He smiled sadly.

"Shut up and get your suits on." Colton was the last to heed his own command, sliding on the pants piece first, then the torso, arms, boots, and gloves.

"You look smokin' hot," Duke observed mildly. Colton had no idea what he looked like but knew it was something ridiculous. 'Smiley Squadron' had a much more sickeningly intimidating ring to it. He decided to say something about that.

"Y'know, we shouldn't be called Galvanized Iron. We should be called Smiley Squadron, especially with you bunch of jokers!"

"That doesn't sound too bad," Duke agreed. "Care to tell them all about it when we get back?"

"I must remind you," Perceptor corrected, "that there is a very good chance you all will die." The soldiers all gazed at him grimly. "You shouldn't die thinking you were never meant to die."

"He's right. We're going to need more jokes," Duke accordingly said.

"You look like a badass Honda," Colton told Skids. "I'd be proud to ride into battle in a minivan in your armor."

"Aw, shucks. Get out of here," Skids finalized dryly.

"Are you sure these suits work?" Another soldier, a man with glasses, questioned. "Aside from your little demonstration we haven't ever used them before."

"Either you'll get the hang of it very quickly, or you won't have to worry about getting the hang of anything anymore," Colton suggested. Skids nodded, as did Perceptor.

They dropped into the West region of the country within twenty minutes. A ribbon of pure white light sizzled over them from what could have been hundreds of miles away, and seven seconds after the last Autobot - Prowl - ejected himself, both planes were melted into oblivion. They plunged forgettably into the water and were lost forever. Galvanized Iron lost one team member before their armored feet touched a hard surface again. He had nowhere to be seen, just vanished. If they looked, they would find his body in the water. The searing white laser had gone through him to reach his plane. It was the bearded one who had talked about the many wars of his beloved country.

They were off, and like the Monger Blitzkaiser and Terrorbite some hundreds of miles East, they would drive on. Stomp on, in Grimlock's case.

* * *

* * *

Hiroyuki was nervous. Who wouldn't be, if you were driving inside a remorseless killer and alongside a feral monster? In the middle of a wrecked world you long only to leave behind with your family safe, yet you're driving smack into its center, where you can only encounter monstrous genocidal robots that destroyed everything you've ever known?

Ahead of him the city was endless, played on a loop, kind of like that radio signal. Contingency Seven, indeed. All wrecked. If he looked hard enough, he could see the legged tank, stomping it with some disproportionately bloated block of a foot, turret chest going off wildly as he cackled with glee. Not a pretty picture in a less-than-pretty world, certainly.

"Why are we still doing this?" He asked Booken. "Now we're being pursued by robot dogs and aside from that nothing's changed. We should be going _out_, not _in, _I thought we agreed on that."

"Bit late for that," the Monger Blitzkaiser commented plainly. "As your wife has pointed out to you, you shouldn't be surprised when your wishes aren't fulfilled because of your own inaction."

"Stop!" He suddenly yelled, maybe louder than he'd yelled for months. Certainly his loudest since the invasion; he'd become an even quieter man. Blitzkaiser was willing to oblige, slamming down hard to skid himself to a halt. A few dozen feet in front of them, Terrorbite stopped too, fishtailing a touch as if to observe the scene that would inevitably play out.

"Get out," he ordered as he opened his passenger-side door. "Walk all the way back to the coast, and take your family with you, if you will. You'll have at most nine hours before Destrongers tear your family's skin from their faces before your eyes, and thankfully they're on such a tight schedule they'll have to give you all a mercifully quick dispatch."

"Hiro-" Booken began but was cut short as her husband did exactly that. "Stop. Get back in right now." She was trying to keep her voice as monotone as possible, hoping it would show surety.

"We've survived out here on our own for months, and we can continue to do so if we must. And the dogs are after _him_, not us. Come with me, and bring Aika, and we'll continue on our way..." At this, Booken climbed out of the seat and hopped down to meet him. Aika scooted to observe from the edge, one leg dangling from the cab. Her eyes were mute too, and paying close attention.

"You don't understand: he needs me to help him. You saw how I convinced Terrorbite to rejoin us, and how I... know things, and can see them. Without those skills he'll never make it, and you know that. If he can't then that'll mean bigger problems beyond the three of us."

"He stumbled upon us by accident, and if he can't do this on his own or even with that damned _dog_ then he should've brought reinforcements! But us? He shouldn't need us! We should be able to continue forward without him taking us back and getting in our way!" Forward? Booken thought.

"Forward? We're closer to the heart of this all than we've ever been, and continuing towards the coast is _backwards._ I think we're a part of this now, and your first thought is of going _back_?"

"You ran after him when he left us, on your own, without any regard for me or for Aika, and you're doing it again! You admitted this was selfish when you returned. What do you think you're saying now?" Booken took a deep breath, and sighed angrily.

"What I think I'm _saying_ is that you and I both know I can see things, and that's what's gotten all of us this far. What I'm seeing now is that we should stop thinking about being rescued to rejoin the world, and start working to help save the world." Hiroyuki laughed at the absurdity of it. Booken, obviously, did not. What she did do, after several long moments of complete silence, was deliver another counterargument, measured for Boto Hiroyuki to comprehend better than anything else in the world.

"Aika is not going to be any safer without Blitzkaiser and Terrorbite, or either of us. We're changed, and right now we're changed in such a way that we need them and they need us. In a way, we have a duty to one another."

Now Hiroyuki's breathing was a bit labored, and had Booken looked directly into his eyes she would've seen a level of pain not thought possible, especially conveyed through such tiny windows as those to the soul. Yet here he was, Boto Hiroyuki, former professional radio operator, father to Aika and husband to Bouken, tearing up and beginning to realize his obligations had been misplaced. All of the Boto family's supplies and belongings were still strapped around his torso by a stitched-up strap (as he'd insisted so long ago), and hanging from an open pocket was his handheld radio, his tangible lifeline of sorts to something long-gone. Understanding, he took it up in his right hand, and with reluctant indifference he let it drop to the ground.

"It was useless anyway," he said, and stepped closer to his wife. Shamelessly, he opened both of his arms and hugged her. Aika, understanding the gesture just as clearly as she had his last act, dropped to the ground and joined in.

A hug, and the sense of warmth it provides, are a result of evolution. In the early days of man, they would often find themselves huddled together for protection against predators. But even more commonly, they would share each other's warmth to stay alive during the winter months, hence that feeling being associated so heavily with "warmth". The month was September now, and this emotional outburst had been good for the Boto family in the sense that they needed warmth.

Blitzkaiser observed, as did Terrorbite, both of whom could see what sort of argument and resolution had just played out. They're a family, how sweet, but we need to move, and now.

Thankfully, they did. But unfortunately, it was not as victorious a reconciliation as one might think. Hiroyuki-san was still completely firm in his belief that they would all die, but at least he could make peace with the fact there would be no stopping them.

* * *

Following this little event came that sort of post-outburst tension: as someone's intense emotions first begin to mellow, it becomes its own sort of unease, and in the Boto family that would be something like this:

Booken, who felt she was only delaying yet another proposed mutiny from her husband, was maybe more afraid than ever, and certainly a bit more unsure. If this ever happened again she knew she would be unable to stop him this time. And she had no idea what the alternative would be. And that compass that showed her movement in dreams and stills in waking had only that one phrase on written on its face: _The heart of it all._ She saw one of the crazies' graffiti works - the first in a long time in the monotony of complete destruction - "_Vengeance is mine,"_ it read, and Bouken saw a picture of a blocky robot pinching a crucifix between its clawed fingers. No doubt this could be seen as having some greater meaning, but that had yet to be discovered and she knew it, if it could mean anything at all.

Hiroyuki was less anxious than his wife: he'd lost his taste for starting any conflict after that, the aftermath of which found him regretful and somewhat ashamed. He'd tossed his radio as a sign of agreement, which probably would prove a mistake. But whatever happened, live or die, he would have no choice but to stand there and take it, as opposed to running from it.

Aika? Aika's thoughts could be known by her and her alone. There was no telling what she thought at this time. Had she inherited a bit of her mother's gift, she would see a black cloud running to strike them down, emerging from the ocean and the sky before it like it had all those years ago. Cyclical time, where the beginning meets the end. Had she received her father's devotion to the world he missed, crossed with every child's sense of dogmatic attachment, she would see the same thing, but this black cloud heralding the end would bear the modest name of _change_. Who knows?

Maybe she'd plucked a bit from both branches, too.

The Monger Blitzkaiser had his own thoughts too. If this Destronger could change form like they could, what else had they been modified to do? Added to their prior abilities? He hadn't seen them do any of that in his first encounters with them; perhaps they had evolved out of them. But doubtful. Either way, it was another thing his reinforcements would have to worry about. But for all he could've cared, they could've died in descent. His job was as Monger, and Mongers acted alone... mostly. He had a Destronger and a family of three, didn't he?

On they would drive. Twice they would encounter Destrongers and be deterred by whatever Terrorbite's scent told them, or however that worked. All five of this group - that's indeed what it would be now - knew that that wouldn't work forever; it'd been lucky to work for a day. They would drive until nightfall, when the Destrongers' hunt would be like never before, and the Monger Blitzkaiser had only part of a plan: stop them. He had one of them now, for this very purpose, it would seem.

The image was quite a unique one, too: a large truck driven seemingly straight from some dystopian future, dressed in loud primary colors and fit to be a fine Wrecker, trailing behind it the trailer that was its body; accompanied by a deep blue sports car decked for rough conditions; racing along with passengers but no drivers but themselves, driving like the world around them had not already crumbled and sighed "Too late." This was, as you know, exactly what this group looked like as they marched on thick rubber tires over crumbled pavement to meet the makers of the new world.

* * *

* * *

The forces of Galvanized Iron had mobilized, and without the potential for other options, they were confined to traveling _wi__thin the__ir allies._ Colton doubted that'd ever sound right, but he should get used to it now. And he'd been right: the Mouth Skids had indeed proven a badass Honda. Prowl became an armored police car of sorts, which was not at all surprising but rather boring, but on the plus side he had rockets. Perceptor now resembled a tank; some very specific older model Colton couldn't remember the name for. Grimlock stomped on, without roar and without flames. Strong silent stomper, he was.

Their pace was much faster with Grimlock to travel ahead and smash away, flattening any roadblocks till they were flat enough to drive over smoothly. Rather like a bunch of dusty street racers, they were, zipping and sliding corners at speeds any stunt driver would call breakneck. The Monger was a one-man army; these four and their passengers _were_ an army. But, you could argue, the Monger cleared much of their path already, which he had done. However, when was never exceedingly close to the coast as they had been, and the "path that he had cleared" had not been cleared of Destrongers, by any means.

Their first brought Grimlock to the ground, and another went to work on him. The other three Autobots proceeded to dump their passengers and engage in full force. This closed them momentarily to an attack from behind, but their suits would continue to function as is proper.

"Destrongers!" Prowl yelled through his radio, and from far away they heard the metallic scream as proof. "Form Two-Nine-Seven!" Obviously this was meant solely for his fellow Autobots. "Blasters, men!" Within their vehicles the small force pulled their rifles and opened their doors to the outside, rolling down doors and standing up to position themselves through the top of their vehicles.

The three vehicular Autobots split up while Grimlock charged ahead. He let loose a defiant war and readied himself to charge, no Monger but certainly a fighter who prefers to be up close and personal. Skids took the right and steadied himself on a street that would lead back to Prowl. Prowl himself was the center line, going in no direction but forward. Perceptor, the most actively combat-ready vehicle by default, took the left, where the Destrongers had first been detected. They would move fast, and if maneuver dictated he and his soldiers would catch them. However, maneuver was not in charge, and was out of control right from the start.

Let us focus on Prowl's group: within his car body were five armored members of Galvanized Iron, which included Colton and Duke. Colton rode in the driver's seat (if such it could be called in a car that drives itself), and Duke was the gunner through the roof. That's when they saw their first Destronger. But it was no malformed metal mesh of a grotesque attack dog. Nah!

They didn't see it as they drove on, split up exactly as intended, past wrecked cars of all makes and models, and clearing debris from their path with heavy plasma fire as the G.I.s discharged their weapons for the first time. It was in this stretch of urban wreckage just like any other Japanese urban wreckage that the Monger Blitzkaiser had landed. Seeing as the Destrongers sought him too, it's no wonder they would converge here to stop his friends.

Also, Monger Blitzkaiser had spoken truth when he said Terrorbite could Transform, but not like them. You can probably guess where the Destrongers were. But there is a lot you don't know that, when put in the context of this situation, makes it scarier than you'd consider before. Two cars, a kind of tank, and a dinosaur running towards the immobile cars "left by the running Japanese people as the Transformers ascended from the sea". Hah, true no more!

"I don't see anything!" Duke declared. "What are we supposed to be seeing?" Nevertheless he kept his gun raised, as soldiers did; he no longer felt so silly after seeing what it could do.

"According to trackers, they're right on top of us." Now Prowl let them know he was coordinating with his teammates: "Perceptor, report."

"Nothing. They have to be hidden somewhere. They could've evolved during our stasis."

"Possible," Skids replied. "Can't confirm any signatures for slag, that's for sure."

And suddenly Colton saw it. They passed an old beige, sort of square car, slammed into some sort of wall. And the whole thing seemed to crack like an egg. He let loose the same word he had when the shapeshifting alken robots had landed with him at their feet.

"Contact! Contact!" And the shooting started. _Pew pew_. All around them the wreckage was coming to life.

"They can Transform!" Prowl yelled futilely to his comrades. And they understood, as each was suddenly facing their own horde. The Monger Blitzkaiser had taken them on one at a time, and he was their strongest; there were four weaker Autobots and a squadron of all-American fighting men armed with laser rifles. "Dismount now!" he ordered his passengers, and all of Galvanized Iron. From there his components would shift, forming arms legs, torso and head. Skids and Perceptor did the same, but Grimlock remained as a stand-in for the mighty Gojira. They ran, forming lines and shapes, firing in all directions at the Transforming Destrongers. They had a skirmish on their hands.

Some hundred or hundred-fifty miles inland, Monger Blitzkaiser and his unfortunately-named "team" were heading towards something similar. Their end goal was closer now; the Autobots and Galvanized Iron had a ways to go.

* * *

* * *

Those hundred-and-fifty miles inland, the Monger Blitzkaiser, a blue Cosmic Countach, and a Japanese family of three stumbled upon their own little war within a war. This invasion force had been exactly as estimated: less than ten. Plus their dogs, but they had not been there when Japan fell.

Cosmo Countach was long-dead, but he had been the first, and he had been meant to believe he was an Autobot. Through whatever coincidence, Sunstreaker had imitated him precisely, but his predecessor was an enemy, not an ally. Starscream, Devastator, the Tank and the Trainer had followed. Devastator, a whole of many parts, had his components. Scrapper, Hook, Long Haul, Bonecrusher, Scavenger and Mixmaster. Six. But it was the whole that counted, and the whole was one. Counting Starscream, the Tank and the Trainer, that was four. Plus Cosmo Countach, five. And the dogs, but they had come later. And if they were to be believed, more would come.

At least, that's how Hook saw it. He was the one they would find. He was a crane, swinging his titular hook on a cable like a prosthetic arm. It had been his voice Booken had heard as she guided her family. He was waiting for them to arrive, exactly as ordered. He had dogs with him.

Thankfully, so did Blitzkaiser.

Still, Hook was waiting, Hook was alone, Hook was bored. Hook was confident he could handle the Monger on his own, and who knows? He might be right.

* * *

* * *

** _The Transformers will return after these messages._ **


	7. Amputation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Monger battles through Decepticons one by one.

_ **We now return to The Transformers.** _

* * *

* * *

They came across yet another roadblock, but it was not anything as grandiose as a building laid across the street, nor as subtle as a Tank observing from a distance. It was, however, a lime-green crane. Booken knew that crane, as you well know. It was perched atop a twelve-story building, miraculously still standing. He'd had some part to play in that; he and he alone, no matter what the others may think. He watched impatiently. This would go without a hitch, and he liked that.

He saw them a quarter of a mile away, and telemetry confirmed this. The Monger Blitzkaiser, his traitorous dog and his little squishy friends were coming. Of course, the dogs' loyalties were always questionable, especially how that Trainer conditioned them, but they would never hesitate to kill. He would take the dog first. And he would kill the Monger. All alone. Mongers were tough, but it was never said that a Monger was smart. That wasn't their job, was it? And, upon observation, this Monger was something of a runt. He recognized him. What would he be calling himself now? Something decadent and abrasive as all the other times, surely.

The jagged blue sports car stopped first. That would be the Destronger. Sixteen nanoseconds behind him was the long-nosed cab of clearly alien origin: the Monger. He'd kept his alternate form, it looked like. They stopped, a hundred feet West and a hundred and eighty below. The Destronger Transformed first, the telltale "cracking like an egg" effect confirming the savage sports car's identity before it resembled any sort of animal form. The humans dismounted, allowing the truck and its permanent resident trailer to mesh into one. From the resulting mass sprouted four limbs and a head. That was new. But he had to admit the whole humanoid design had a bit of style about it.

Now Hook-sama himself Transformed. He was glad to announce it was beautiful: panels slid about and found new homes, clicking and fastening together as vehicle components found new places to function with even higher efficiency. And what once was a crane truck had become a work of art: a perfectly symmetrical bipedal sculpture, save the crane becoming his left arm. Every perfect reflection needs a little variety to break monotony into a Masterpiece, after all. He called out to them.

"Monger!" He called out. The Monger Blitzkaiser replied.

"Hook." (Neither Hook nor his adversary saw it, but Booken suddenly tensed. Aika clung to her, and as one the three humans moved for cover, exactly where Booken told them to. They disappeared, and Booken would be proven again correct as they will remain out of sight.) "I'd be happy to stop and chat, but I have to go through you now. In all likelihood you won't survive."

"We'll see about that!" Hook yelled again. Now he spoke to the dogs. "Stay back. I don't want you interfering." He leapt from his vantage point on the roof, swinging down like some distorted Spider Man on his hooked arm. He dropped some two-hundred feet from where the Monger had stood, and the Monger was slow. He even had time to retract his hook and launch the barbed weapon at his target. It caught, exactly as he had planned, around the Autobot's neck. He was right about it being a sensitive point for humanoid silhouettes. This did not stop the Monger, but the slowing runt was now slowed down and weakened. He would gloat now, tell him his whole story.

"This time you can even say you had nothing to do with it. Tell that to the other Mongers!" He cackled, because he loved to hear his own voice. This language the locals spoke was amazingly elegant for such a primitive and simple-minded race. The Monger dropped to his knees. Retract his hook hard enough into his wrist and the cable wrapped around his enemy's neck would come with enough force to pop his head off. But that would be too quick. He wanted a perfect fight. He loosened the cable.

The Monger, seeing this arrogance, acted accordingly. Seizing the cable around his neck he jerked backwards, yanking the Decepticon off his feet and sending him shooting forward some fifty feet. Terrorbite leapt on the Decepticon as he fell, already ripping into his metallic flesh with fangs like barbed wire.

The Destronger dogs disobeyed Hook's last command. They sprung into action, first onto their own and then onto Blitzkaiser, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. He had not wanted it to go like this - his plan was ruined, and he was angry. He got to his triangular feet, almost swept away as the pack of a dozen or so charged forward, but sure of himself until he was finally upright again. He charged forward, hook poised like a whip. First he struck the traitorous dog, slapping it across the belly as it rolled with the force of the pack of Destrongers. It even had the gall to whimper. Next he charged the Monger himself, who was tossing the dogs off of himself. One lodged its jaws in his arm, but he was not one to express pain. Instead he broke the teeth lodged in his arm from the dog's jaw and swatted it away. Hook attacked him while he was vulnerable, stinging him once across the face, and his arm in backswing. Both drew away red paint and splinters of metal.

A Destronger charged Blitzkaiser again but now it was Hook who swatted it back, catching his cable in its snout and yanking it back, where it would stay or face worse punishment. This was his. He needed focus.

They weren't too different in size, truth be told. Hook's blood red visor could see that now. He was small, and he was weak. He charged the runt of a Monger, running forward and leaping into a Transformation, battering his opponent's chest but still caught and thrown back. He rolled to the ground in bipedal form, smashing the exterior of his old perch to bits, and raised his cable arm again. The Monger, unarmed save his fists, had no defenses to speak of.

Terrorbite had limped around to the Boto family, and provided some protection from its falling as it tumbled into their arena. Comparatively, any damage he sustained was nothing. As a whole, Terrorbite, Blitzkaiser, Hook and his Destrongers shook off their debris, shoving it over out of sight and resuming within seconds. Terrorbite needed to enter the one-on-one, interfere somehow, but the Destrongers had new orders, and obeying would permit them to kill this traitor. They remained stationary, eyes ablaze, scowling and growling.

"Jump! Transform!" Booken yelled, and not only did Terrorbite understand but he comprehended. He leapt upward, first clawing away the other dogs, then getting a secondary jump out of a Destronger turned with its chest to the sky, and Transforming to gain speed and hit his master's opponent in full force. Rubber-like tires singed and softened their mark. He fell backwards, and Terrorbite got another leap as he pushed off against the falling Decepticon. And he made contact with his master. Another trick evolved into the dogs since last the Monger saw them.

The blue Cosmic Countach fused with the Monger, wrapping around his chest, reaching to his Cog. The resulting metal blob reached out its limbs and the Monger's head emerged.

"That was unexpected," the newly-formed Gestalt commented plainly. Hook, his entire plan completely awry and with no way to hide it, called to his dogs. He'd been standing in slight shock as he remembered the dogs could do so. And so could this runt. But never like this! Never like this!

"Don't just stand there!" He barked in frustration, and they responded, pouncing from all directions as one. He needed to run, and he did, on his wheels down crumbled war-torn street of his own making. Behind him, and before the combined Monger, the Destrongers were flying. Now with an extra set of arms formed in combination, he pawed two away and caught a third by the throat. Speaking through his combined partner, Terrorbite found his voice, and addressed the dog at his/their mercy. "I'd never liked you," he muttered, and caved the dog's throat in his fist. Comedically, the Gestalt wielded the Destronger's carcass as a spiked and blunt instrument. Such things were not unheard of, even for a Monger. He/they smacked three dogs away and got a forth tangled up in the carcass. With a whole pair of free arms while the fourth slammed a dog to the ground, he crushed the two into one. With three of his/their four arms he brought the silver mesh ball of car parts and mechanical viscera above his/their head. This would make three Destrongers killed with nine to go. But the Destrongers were not their objective. He/they battered the Destronger continuously against a building before ripping its vertebra out through the tail. He/they hurled the carcass ball at the circling Destrongers before them while the fourth arm whipped a straggler with the maimed spinal cord and tail of its former cohort. That would make six killed so far.

But Hook was getting away. He/they needed to make this quick. Without any train of thought their processors reciprocated one another and they disengaged. Terrorbite unwrapped himself from his master and leapt into the remaining six or so Destrongers. He would either survive the encounter with the former comrades that outnumbered him, or he wouldn't, and that would be that. (Behind them, Booken moved the Boto family farther away on foot. Lot of good that would do, but they could not remain; their original hideout went flat behind them as they ran.)

The Monger Blitzkaiser, meanwhile, Transformed into that longnose cab and trailer of non-Terran make and model, and pursued his prey. Around tight corners, through a tunnel, again through the piecemeal wreckage of a business district which would have business no more. He caught him on a truss bridge over a river, and it was here that Hook had prepared a final ambush. As his front tires met the bridge and over what felt like a speed bump, the Monger found one caught in his enemy's cable. He tried to Transform, but the cord ground his insides, leaving him the option of remaining malformed, or being trapped in his vehicle form. Before him, Hook cackled in victory and hysteria, left arm outstretched towards his captive and right arm straight out to his side in gloating. The Monger tried to drive forward. He could not, and without his eyes he could not see why. Trapped and blind.

"Great Monger Blitzkaiser! The Grand Runt of all the Mongers! Caught by the cable of a Decepticon named Hook-sama!" He laughed again. And then he taunted further. "I'll let the humans keep this language. It's beautiful, very elegant, has that air of power to it, don't you think?" He tugged now, and the barbed end of his arm popped the Monger's right front tire with a disappointing _poof_. Bye-bye, traction! "Nowhere to run away, and you will be stopped here! We have what you're looking for, by the way." Another chuckle. "And that traitorous dog and three humans you left behind? My Destrongers will tear them up and melt them into soup! I've never eaten like the locals do, and I'd be happy to _taste_." Now the Monger risked it. He Transformed, ready to become caught further, and managing to get his arms out of his trailer. They grabbed the cable and yanked Hook toward him. This loosened it enough that he could free it from his axle, and tossed it to the ground. He completed his Transformation, his cab uniting and forming the torso of his mechanoid form. He saw the roadblock now. It was a cylindrical roadblock, manufactured to roll and catch under his axle, becoming square and raising his front end from the ground. A Transformer design. He quickly picked it up and brandished it before the fallen Hook. He was getting his own cable arm caught up in himself. He likely had not retracted it all the way as he tried to Transform and run away. He writhed on the ground without any deserving of pity.

The Monger bludgeoned him into a pile of parts under his own roadblock. It made for a great blunt instrument.

He heard the revving of some car. He turned and recognized a blue Cosmic Countach. It opened its doors before stopping, and once it came to a rest out stepped Hiroyuki, Booken and little Aika. Blitzkaiser cleared their path.

"How close are we?" Hiroyuki asked.

"Within a day's travel," Booken answered. Blitzkaiser nodded in confirmation.

"Tonight and tomorrow morning," the Monger added.

"He was part of Devastator, wasn't he?" Booken asked, pointing to the crushed and battered Hook. In the minutes after death, like some Transformers, his body reflexively tried and failed to Transform. Each time resembled a slightly shorter spasm, wheels turning hopelessly, smoke drifting to the sky as he exhausted the last of his earthen fuel.

"Yes."

"And you can do... that thing? With Terrorbite-san?" Blitzkaiser stepped a bit farther onto the bridge, and examined the dead Hook. Now he was becoming stiller. His body was unimportant. But his own tire had popped, and they were all likely somewhat worn. This Decepticon's tires were equally durable, and looked about the same size.

"Combination. He and I share it. No more talk. We stop next tonight, and regroup from there." He removed one of the carcass's wheels, and his own spent one. Screwdrivers in his fingertips opened and performed the transplant. It was over within fifteen seconds. Now he Transformed, and his cab opened. They got in, and the blue sports car and polychromatic truck and trailer pulled away. Behind them, Hook gave one last spasm, and the cable wrapped around his body finally snapped. He came to a rest.

* * *

* * *

Word came of Hook's death very quickly. Starscream's regular comm checks had turned up nothing, and there were no reports of him crossing paths with any of his comrades. Finally, Long Haul found the site of some battle. Whatever it was, it had torn through a dozen Destronger dogs and three blocks of some nameless downtown.

"And the Autobots are still moving forward with the humans?" He asked over comm to Scrapper, who was currently the closest Decepticon to the West coast.

"They are. They've made it a dozen or so miles forward and I estimate they've killed two dozen or so dogs."

"Scout ahead and confirm this. Keep up consistent waves of Destrongers, but don't try to force them back. Slow them down, but let them move forward."

"Are you sure, Commander?"

"Positive. Also, I _regret_ to inform you that Hook is dead. The Monger killed him." He grinned as he said it. He'd never liked Hook. None of them had.

"Sad to hear. Are our reinforcements still on schedule?"

"The components of Devastator II will be arriving within six hours, and you are to report back to base in five. I hear he'll be something of a wonder to behold."

"Are they interchangeable with our components?"

"_Roughly,_" he said, trying and failing to stifle something of a chuckle. No need. Scrapper heard it all. "Terminate transmission." The line went dead on command. Now he grinned maliciously, as he always did. He'd told Devastator to hunt down and destroy the Monger. Then he had received word of the other Autobots arriving on the island. Classic Autobot tactics, so predictable, and he'd decided to change plans. And with news of the demise of Hook, he was happy he had.

The Monger would be coming here. Devastator II would meet him, as would the remaining components of its original, and himself, plus whatever dogs they still had. This would all be over in time to set up an anticlimactic final massacre for the other Autobots.

He'd fashioned himself a kind of throne from the remains of an old building. And here he sat, overlooking the whole of Japan. It was like one big junkyard from one coast to the other, he and the others had made sure of that. And they had chosen this spot deliberately. Comso Countach, their poor forgotten scout who thought he was an Autobot, had found this place in passing, and had been drawn to it. But Starscream knew nothing of the ring and the golden horns. Instead he knew of what else had crashed there. Or were they one and the same? A signal which investigating Decepticon forces would find and take its source as their own? They had gathered their forces around it and pushed the locals out to get their hands on that signal. And they would be able to crush the last of their adversaries in the same fell swoop. The Emperor would be pleased. There may be a promotion in all this, and the universe knows he deserved it!

He left his throne and stepped from the roof into the air, and from there he Transformed and took off. He felt like flying right now. As the sole flyer of this whole force, he'd even be able to gather some of his own intel. And he was formulating a new plan even now: he would attack the Autobots from above, drop some bombs on them, and then walk among them where they had fallen, and crush each one under his heel and thruster. He'd like that very much.

* * *

* * *

The Autobot, Destronger and three humans stopped for the night outside an old gas station. Booken had no idea where they were and didn't care much, but she knew it was somewhere new because it was less crowded here. Still thoroughly destroyed with wreckage everywhere, but it felt... more deserted than anything she'd ever felt in the city. Had she traveled beyond the urban sprawl for much of her life she recognized she likely would have even thought this before the attacks. But now there was something to it that felt like a rest, and for tonight it was. She had a rough idea about how vehicular shapeshifters used regular car fuel now, but she understood this was likely just an alternative. They set up a small fire, which Blitzkaiser approved, and began to cook some more of their food. They were running low on it now. That wouldn't matter much, Booken knew. Either they would finish this or they would die. Hiroyuki dared not say a thing. Aika went off somewhere to play on her own, and Terrorbite had followed. Had the Monger told him to do that?

"How do you normally eat?" Booken asked. "You use our fuel, yet I doubt very much that you can do that on other worlds."

"We Transform everything to suit each world, and you have seen," he confirmed. "But without any adaptation, we survive on something you could never hope to recognize."

"Pure energy?" He nodded. No-brainer. "Are we going to encounter much resistance when we reach your destination?"

"Hordes of Destrongers, Devastator, likely more. If not the monster itself, then its remaining components."

"What is it they're guarding?"

"Something transmitting a signal, as I've told you before. As to what it is, I doubt myself nor my allies have any idea what it is. The Decepticons might not even know themselves."

"Is it required that you change your form with each new world?"

"No. But each world's physiology looks monstrous among the next. The silhouette says more than you can know."

"Is that why the Decepticons look so hideous yet you look... normal?" He nodded. They ate in silence for some time. Booken looked over to find Terrorbite slinking around a car. Aika was on the other side, and she stood on her toes and pointed to the other side. Terrorbite sprung up and Aika was laughing. There was something impossibly unnerving, completely alien, yet absolutely right about it.

"Why is Terrorbite able to play with Aika?" Hiroyuki inquired, likely worried the Destronger would tear his daughter apart yet like always unable to do anything about it.

"Destrongers are not unlike the dogs of your own world. And as a species, I've mentioned we're very adaptable. And this one, I think he was different from the others, even before I captured him. Now let me ask you: your daughter hasn't once spoken, like you have. It doesn't seem to be something children do as a whole. What damaged her?"

"We don't know. We think there's something wrong, and we can't fix it until we get her to a doctor. That means leaving Japan," Hiroyuki explained.

"You don't know it's a problem a medic can fix," Blitzkaiser responded. "I've seen worlds where being mute was an indicator of power, proven through adversity. Loss of voice in exchange for strength." This was slightly off-subject, but he was a Monger. Subject matter wasn't his job.

Both of the child's parents considered this for a moment. Truth be told, it was Booken who contemplated it most of all. But no matter what consensus was reached, the Monger had spoken. And he spoke again.

"What was your world like before the Decepticons?" Both Booken and Hiroyuki were caught slightly off guard by this question. He might actually be showing interest in them beyond as allies. His looking into Aika's muteness was simple observation, but this was active curiosity. Booken answered first.

"We were living in fear. And the world was small; most of us denied existence of a world beyond our own, and within our small world we likely would have destroyed ourselves if the Decepticons hadn't nearly destroyed us first."

"And after Cosmo Countach's arrival, we were more scared than ever. So scared we were prepared to destroy each other. We would have, if they hadn't arrived, like Booken said," Hiroyuki added. "And after this is all over..." He trailed off.

"Are we going to go back to how we were?" Blitzkaiser shook his head.

"No. After something like this, there's no going back. You're... Transformed." He exhaled a little, confirming the humor behind this. Booken smiled grimly. This meant there might be hope for them, if this had changed them.

"And you?" Booken wondered. The Monger sighed. The two humans followed his eyes to Terrorbite and Aika, still playing so innocently. _How?_

"The war between Autobots and Decepticons ended long ago. This is the epilogue. Who knows what will come from this? Maybe nothing. But the Monger's duty is always the same: to fight and destroy until the very bitter end. And if this thing that lured us all here offers any hope of survival for you, and for us, that's what has to happen."

The rest of the night was spent in silence. Most of it, anyway. Booken suddenly remembered the Tank.

"That first Decepticon... he was speaking to you about letting others die. And you said you knew him?" The Monger did not answer quickly. Hiroyuki was still somewhat afraid he would turn murderous on them at mention of such a thing. But his fears were eased when he simply answered anyway.

"Maybe I did let someone die, and maybe it was him. But he made his choice, and I made mine. And right now that changes nothing."

_Maybe so_, Booken thought. _Or maybe it would mean everything_.

* * *

And the next morning they were up. Despite the urgency of it all, they had a late start. It was about nine before they could finally move. And they would see how much resistance they would face when Long Haul found them.

They had been moving steadily for about five hours when they found a construction dump truck. Needless to say it was not a dump truck when they found it. Booken screamed suddenly, and the Monger knew to stop. Terrorbite stopped two seconds later. They were back in the city now, and the streets were narrower and the debris was more of an obstacle. The Monger was not concerned about debris, but the narrower quarters would mean combat was to be tricky. It would also be a challenge for this much bulkier Decepticon.

As they had learned to, the Boto family exited the cab and quickly fled for cover. Long Haul was not concerned with them, and let them pass with ease. Had Starscream seen this he would've punished his assigned underling on the spot. But he didn't care. Starscream was a coward, and he wasn't here, was he? Who _was_ here were himself, the Autobot Monger, and their respective Destronger companions.

"Remove! Remove!" He shouted tauntingly. "Monger Blitzkaiser! Hate to say it, but you're not allowed access beyond this point." He raised what appeared to be a rifle. First one the Monger had seen this whole time. Now it was two, one in each hand, and both Blitzkaiser and Terrorbite knew to scatter as he took aim. He proved slow. His dogs did not. They were on top of the two just seconds after his first discharge.

Managing to repel the dogs long enough to unite, they merged, and the resulting four-armed Monger/Destronger fought as you would expect, ripping them apart with some ease. He even threw a Destronger jawpiece in Long Haul's direction, and it lodged in his chest. He staggered back, hitting a building with something of a booming _crak_. Dust fell on him in sheets and he shook it off in frustration. Now he would contribute his share to the Combiner. While he was swatting away the remaining three Destrongers he was unprepared for the two beams of hot plasma that, true to Long Haul's form, would only nick him. It was not until the Decepticon collided with him that he became a true issue. He landed a single punch before the Combined Monger disengaged, and Terrorbite leapt on him with the ferocity necessary to turn him over with the dog on his stomach. This gave the Monger the time necessary to get to his feet, although he collided with buildings on both sides and stepped on at least one car simply getting to his feet. The three remaining Destrongers were taking up formation some distance away. In car form, ready to melt rubber and charge their quarry.

Picking up the crushed car from under his feet he threw it into them. They had barely the time to Transform when four-way collision was eminent, and they stumbled back as one. Now he could turn to the Decepticon Long Haul. Now beating back the dog with a slab of concrete, he turned his attentions towards the Monger and found himself taking his own reciprocated punch to the face, and the Monger did not hit lightly. His helmet caved. Angrier now, he remembered the Destronger jaw, still in his chest, and launched it back to its thrower and amputator. It hit its mark, and the Monger found himself with a Destronger jawbone protruding from the truck hood on his chest. Now Terrorbite was on top of Long Haul, slamming him into yet another building, and the two remaining Destrongers charged the Monger. The third had been caught up in the thrown car as it Transformed. Not a good way to grind yourself to bits. He took a wide defensive stance.

And then they slid under and passed him by. Initially shocked, he turned slower than he should have, and it was here that Long Haul pounced like an enraged horse ready to trample. Caught on his side, the Monger's face met the glass window of an office building and shattered it. He needed to get out of this, whether that meant killing Long Haul or not. With his arm forced across his chest, he reached for the jawpiece and jabbed it back at his opponent. This time it went high, and his caved helmet was not only useless but a prison. His visor was shattered, and due to its caving he was trapped inside, completely blind. That was unimportant right now. What was important was that two Destrongers were headed right for the Boto family. Terrorbite, now in car mode, raced ahead and broke open into his dog form on top of them. With a cacophony of combative grunts they rolled as one away from the overturned trailer the family were hiding within. There was a trail of blood. That fluid that runs through the human body at all times, and in various cultures a symbol of death. The Monger recognized it and no matter what was inside, it yielded no meaning to him other than that that blood had been shed by one of them. Now he turned to the blinded and trapped Long Haul, staggering around like a drunkard, hitting buildings, falling over and getting to his feet in time for another collision.

With no hesitation he seized the enemy robot by the neck and yanked upward with the force necessary to pull his entire head - helmet included - from its socket at his neck. Wires, cables, and a black fluid like blood gushed briefly, and then were gone.

Now he found the remaining Destrongers and proceeded to tear both limb from limb with Terrorbite's help. One of them had blood in its jaws, and this one the Monger tore open by the jaw and impaled upon itself. Only then did he return to the trailer where the Boto family had hid. From it emerged Booken, then Hiroyuki, carrying Aika in his arms. She was crying, and loudly. Both parents were covered with blood.

For the rest of her life Booken would worry about Aika's future as a one-legged tourist.

* * *

Here the Monger Blitzkaiser would make another decision. As Aika bled out helplessly and screamed horribly, Hiroyuki was clearly in something of a controlled panic. Booken even more so, and to top it all off she was still just awaiting that thing that had found her when this all had began. That one Destronger had found them and they had nowhere and no time to run. It had gotten enough in to reach for them, and it had snapped Aika's leg off. Hiroyuki was in the process of tearing his shirt for a tourniquet as the Monger loomed above them.

"Help us!" He screamed to the giant as he wrapped the strip around his daughter's leg. Booken, who was holding the young girl, was instead looking at the blue Destronger. She was crying now, and crying hard and silently. With his one good eye glowing brilliant orange and facing them, she could see - or feel - something in there. Empathy, that's what it had been.

"How?" He asked down in response. Booken could hear something in that one word too. Maybe something that would be lost in translation, but she wasn't listening to the translation. And she understood. He truly could do nothing to help Aika, the gigantic giant-killer from another world that he was, and his ability to help them would stop here.

"I think there should be a hospital nearby," she managed to spit with barely enough stability in her voice to hold coherence. He gazed at her and nodded. Whatever that meant for them between now and reaching the hospital, she had no clue. None.

"I'm afraid your journey ends here. You have helped us this far, and all that awaits for you out there is death. For all of you. I thank you for assisting in getting us this far, but I cannot, and will not return for you." He gave a slight bow, and in the solemnity of the gesture Booken bowed back. She thought she felt Aika do the same. Hiroyuki, who would have likely resisted in any other circumstance, instead was simply still.

Terrorbite bowed too, lowering his forelegs and head to the ground and closing his one remaining eye. When he opened it again, Booken could have sworn there was a human tear there, a flicker in the optics.

They Transformed and drove off, leaving the Boto family at the mercy of their own feet, and Aika in particular at the mercy of time. The Monger was right: they would not see him again.

In front of them and off to one side, Long Haul's carcass Transformed into a green dump truck, and stayed that way forever.


	8. Devastation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terrorbite and the Monger take their battle to the Decepticons.

The journey was much quicker now. Less than six hours of driving and two packs of Destrongers later, they came to a Decepticon landmark. An entire city block had been cleared, and within it were the charred remains of whatever they could find - human corpses, most likely. They had burned it all into the shape of that jagged face the Monger knew was not a face. A Decepticon symbol visible to any spacefaring vessel in passing. But it was more graffiti, like the ones left by Booken's crazies, than it was a flag. No need for a flag when you're a Decepticon.

The Monger defaced it before passing. With Terrorbite's help they trampled on wheels over it, and by the end it was simply another mess. After that they continued onward, across land that now was plowed and mowed, flat and open, ideal for battle. Another pack of Destrongers and a dead Decepticon later, they came within five miles of their destination. As you can imagine, their pace from there was much slower.

The first missile flipped the Monger into a roll, and he stumbled into his humanoid form, Long Haul's guns trained in front and above him. Another shook the world behind him but he did not flinch. Overhead, the fighter jet Transformed to reveal the malformed physique of a previous world: wide, thin frame and twisted chicken knees completed by a semicircular head. Expansive shoulders seemed to widen with every movement of his arms, and he held them out in triumph. The Seeker called out in Japanese.

"Monger-sama!" The Seeker boomed. More like squealed. "I am Starscream, and you will know my name, and you will enunciate it very clearly when you die!" At least he had the courtesy to get introductions out of the way for the both of them. Even as he spoke, the Monger was firing upon him, but the Seeker and Decepticon leader simply leaned out of the way of each one. He'd never been a great shot anyway. Beside him, Terrorbite grunted cautiously. "Your dog is cute. Lucky to have him on your good side, otherwise he'd be staring at your leg and nothing else!" The Monger fired one last time, paying closer attention to the feel of the gun, and the final shot grazed the Seeker's wing. He lost a bit of altitude and cursed in some otherworldly language, inaudible to human ears.

"Enjoy the slaughter to come!" - he pointed towards the sky and his thrusters groaned - "The new arrivals are here!" A mass of magma roughly the size of the Decepticon insignia seen before was hurling at Mach 5 through the clouds. Knowing this world's luck, it would not hit the ground in full force and destroy itself on impact. Starscream retreated, and the Monger Blitzkaiser followed. For as long as he could.

* * *

Destrongers were soon upon them. Blitzkaiser Transformed first, and Terrorbite launched himself to his master. The resulting four-armed Gestalt smacked aside the firsts of its opposing pack before being tackled, and a flurry of fangs were upon them. Long Haul's pistols were dropped at this time, and slid away by the hunters. Disengaging quickly, the duo's reverse-combination in that moment allowed the blue Destronger to leap up and swipe his claws towards at least three other dogs. Blitzkaiser Transformed and ran over two, leaving Terrorbite's three and eight more. The Destronger in question had already torn two apart and pounced on the last, chomping into where its jugular would be, and it seemed to have the life hollowed out of it in that instant. He tossed the corpse into Blitzkaiser, hoping he could use it as a weapon. Of course he could.

Blitzkaiser, grabbing up the carcass, swung it and caught two Destrongers, and release the carcass in order to Transform and ram into a third. Now Terrorbite was running toward him, passing Long Haul's fallen pistols. He scooped them up in his mouth and charged forward. Blitzkaiser Transformed again, rolling a dog flat beneath him and getting thirteen five-inch spikes in his back as a result. As a human would say, "I've been trying to reach that spot for months!" He paid it little mind, and rolled off. Now he saw his partner, and Terrorbite's jaws unclamped. He caught one pistol and shot away two Destrongers. That would leave two more. One leapt at him and he reached for it with his shooting hand. The Destronger brought its mouth shut on the pistol and it exploded, destroying both itself and the weapon. Reaching with his other hand, he picked up the other gun and shot the other Destronger as it charged.

They stood over the dead pack. Absentmindedly, the Monger tossed aside the spent weapon and examined his mangled right hand which had held it. The fingers would not close all the way. Just enough force to loosely grip an object. Not good for much anymore. But one Monger before him, the great Slasher, had never had hands to begin with, merely two broadswords attached perpendicular to his wrists and forearms. Mongers were meant to destroy, not push buttons. He muttered some remark to his companion.

"We got out of that one by the skin of our teeth," he had said. Not entirely true, and such an expression was not used in this language. He Transformed, and his companion followed him. Across even flatter wasteland than before, they drove on. They would encounter another pack, and the remaining Decepticons of the first invasion wave, minus the Trainer and Starscream. Starscream's planned rendezvous at base was indeed short-lived. Hook, Bonecrusher, Mixmaster and Scavenger, all dead, plus another dozen Destrongers. There would be much fewer of them at base as well. But of course, the new arrivals would replenish the old, exactly as was their purpose. Devastator II had made contact, as previously mentioned.

* * *

* * *

The aforementioned Devastator arrived in parts, exactly as the first had. Starscream was happy to note that they did not fully accept this world's common form, instead keeping their originals from the last world, as he had. Their combined form would reflect this as well, although he would begrudge their vehicle forms apparently did not. He liked this bunch much better than their predecessors. The campaign where they had come from had ended within hours. But this was much more important.

"Are we to expect more of you?" Starscream asked their leader. He was the only roughly humanoid one of the group, and had no name of this world yet.

"Should this prove to be what we believe it is, we'll confirm our transmission codes, the Emperor will arrive himself with his personal Division within one solar week. But we will lay waste to this world long before that."

"Ah, I am so glad to hear it," Starscream responded smoothly. "Do you know of the Monger?" The leader shook his head. "The last of the Autobot squadrons has arrived here as well, and their Monger heads towards us even now while the four others push forward. It is our hope that they will arrive to late, and Devastator can squash them with ease." Now the leader nodded. "The Monger has so far destroyed everything sent at him, including the previous Devastator, so I imagine he will prove quite a challenge. He has a Destronger with him too."

"Observation of the battles would likely show that the two of them handle numerous small combatants fairly well. Conclusion is that it would be best to fight him as your combined form," the Trainer added.

"Consider it done," the leader replied.

"Wait." Starscream held up a hand to stop. The motion disgusted him more than anything else. "I want him closer to the prize when the final offensive takes place."

"This is both arrogant and likely to grant the Monger a wider margin of success," the Trainer commented. Always the annoying little know-it-all, he was.

"We will gather all of your remaining Destrongers, then, and you and I will participate in this battle as well," he responded with some frustration.

"Devastator is not suited for this planet's terrain. Logic dictates that the form _must_ change with each world for the two entities to accommodate each other most efficiently."

"_Logic dictates_ that I will consult you when seeking advice in executive decisions. As it is, I am not, so you can run back to your dogs and ready them all." He shooed the Trainer away and faced the Devastator II leader again. "Apologies," he said dryly. "I want the Monger to be slaughtered quickly, that is all," he lied. "And the Autobots can be wiped out in another fell swoop using similar tactics. Surely this is sound strategy."

"Certainly," the leader commented. "When will he be arriving?"

"Soon enough that preparations should be made immediately. Dismissed."

He Transformed and flew away to rejoin his throne some two-hundred feet above the Gestalt team. He could hear the Trainer's dogs chattering and barking now, and he smiled with smug satisfaction.

You'd imagine one of two things to happen: one, Starscream's strategy works in the end. Decepticons win, game over. Or two, the Monger does his job. Starscream was many things, but he always saw two sides to everything. And he saw the scenario where the Monger beat them, unlikely as that may be. He was not as overconfident as his superiors had been led to believe. He must not let this Monger reach their prize.

* * *

* * *

The Monger and the Destronger found silence to greet them. They drove in silence, and it was unnerving. A great amount of anticipation. He was not at top speeds, nor was the Countach to his right; even Mongers got to relax sometimes. But sometimes it would be better not to relax.

Guilt starts to set in: the weight of murder in the name of war. In retrospect destruction seems less sensational and more of a burden. Countless other worlds, and all of it lost between two sides who in the end don't care what is in the crossfire. Hatred unlike anything else! For everything, including the greatest destroyer of all. How many had it been? How often had he cared? Now it was a losing cause, and he just kept on. Clairvoyant humans? Little children with their legs bitten off, gushing their red fuel and dying horrible deaths. Even to the nonhuman, death in youth was no way to live. They had been running, and he had run them into the jaws of the dogs. _And for - ...!_

He accelerated a bit without realizing it Terrorbite bumped him, getting his attention. He swerved hard, his cab striking an upturned chunk of concrete and flipping him over. His trailer was undone by force and it tumbled to the side aimlessly. Meanwhile his cab skidded to a halt with a pronounced squeal and uncomfortable scrape. Terrorbite skidded to a stop beside him. His cab mode Transformed, revealing a humanoid figure of average height, bearing a faceplate and his larger body's colors. The innermost body of the Monger got to its feet, and looked to the Destronger. He was staring back with a single fiery orange eye. What must he be thinking? Never mind now.

"Size does matter in battle, and that never changes," he commented hoarsely before retrieving his trailer. He must not let himself get lost in thought again. The Monger's job was to have their wits in combat, but not to think. Thinking would mean too much; be too much to handle after all that.

They continued onward. Now he accelerated meaningfully, and the blue Cosmic Countach had no problem keeping up. He focused on his surroundings with his remaining accessible senses in vehicle form, just to avoid being able to look inward. How he had done this even with the company of the Boto family, he could no longer remember. He must keep his mind clear. That had happened far too fast, and had it not been the open road...

_And for what? The cause? He didn't fight for the cause. And something must change if the fight would be allowed to continue at all. Not like size in battle, that never changes, does it? Big always beats small, and that's why Mongers exist._

_Existed, anyway._

* * *

He Transformed when they were about five miles out. The Seeker - Starscream - was indeed arrogant. But they would be upon him in droves, and they would likely overpower him. And the remaining Destrongers would likely be fresh, no match for his single tired one. And they would be expecting him, and he would be expecting them. There was no option but to walk into it, and get it done quickly.

Beside him, Terrorbite growled sadly. He turned to look at the creature. And in the eyes, like this world's species could see through the windows to the soul, he saw in that one eye that the Destronger knew.

They walked on.

He saw Starscream overhead, observing silently. He still had one gun and one good hand to use it, but even plasma had limited ammunition. He did not know yet how much he was facing. And for now the Seeker was harmless. In his Decepticon pride he would do two things: one, he would not lower himself by changing his form to accommodate this world; two, he would not risk his own life attacking the Monger on his own. And as the commander of the invasion force, he would let his underlings do the dirty job instead. In other words, he was practically a spectator.

He walked another mile when he saw the first of them. A dump truck, bulkier and more disproportionate than Long Haul, oversized and easily taller and wider than his own vehicle form. Another joined it, a truss crane equal in vehicle form to his humanoid height. Joining them, a power shovel also easily his bulk in either mode. These were another round of Devestator components. More joined them. A massive buzzsaw meant to evoke this world's machines while clearly not being one of them. A bulldozer. Front-loader shovel. That was six. Behind them came more.

Moving between them now were Destrongers, with more shining dark silver armor and eyes that glowed with the blazes. In the face of this, the Monger cracked his first grin on this world. From what the scouts had told them, smiling was common, and the physiology to it was uncomfortable. But he'd done this before, roughly. And this was the first time he had a Destronger partner with him.

"Come on!" He boomed now. "You've gathered to kill me! So do it! End this threat to the Decepticon reign forever!"

And oh, they were happy to oblige.

The construction vehicles - nine in total - were starting to move into formation. And they began to mesh. The dump truck and a bulldozer formed the feet, flattening out and squaring back up with a sinister groan. The massive power shovel and a long-bed truck melted together, and a cement mixer climbed up its comrades to the very top; he was the head. Already he was bursting open, and out came a face like a hideous insectoid Destronger dog. Multiple sets of glowing eyes came to life and a jaw wider than the Monger's height snapped open. A truss crane and second bulldozer slammed into one another and became one, and the Devastator II centerpiece shrugged the clawed arm into its chest, roaring madly. The remaining shovel pieces piled together into another arm, and the behemoth completed itself by slamming the arm into its socket.

Blitzkaiser and Terrorbite watched silently as the dogs began to gather around the monster, and as it sprung to full life. Stumbling to all fours, it pressed itself up, straining to keep its head off the ground. With all of its four sets of spider's eyes it saw the Monger, and it roared, revealing a lower jaw that split into two pieces. First it took one lumbering reach forward with a front leg/arm, then another.

"Decepticons, charge!" Starscream yelled. No need to tell them. The Destrongers raced ahead while Devastator was still gaining momentum. Earth car parts ground and sparks flew with every little movement the monstrous Gestalt made.

"Terrorbite, engage," the Monger commanded. His Destronger raced ahead too, while he gripped his stolen gun in his good hand and curled his mangled one into a club. He raised his arm and fired where he stood, picking off a good nine dogs as Terrorbite wrestled with three at the same time; neither could ever get them all. At least five would continue to charge forward. One leapt and he shot, but another leapt and found purchase on his face and chest, digging in for a good six inches and sending him horizontal. The third of the five snatched the gun and bit down hard, most likely knowing full well the resulting explosion would destroy it. But at least it had the respect to spare his hand.

The ground rumbled a bit as the Titan continued advancing, but none of the combatants before it seemed to care, and in truth none of them did. The Monger clubbed away one dog and now with two hands pried another's jaw wide open. And like before, he brandished it as a weapon, tossing it to a Destronger, who dodged it easily but ran right to Terrorbite's own jaws in doing so.

"I command you: Devastator Winds!" barked Starscream. The Gestalt, lumbering forward far too slow for its commander's liking, comprehended the command. Barely. Unhinging its three jaws it opened wide, and the Destrongers remained firm where they stood in the face of the mysterious words.

The giant inhaled.

It was impossibly powerful, all-encompassing, pulling like a pair of Mongers could pull you by the ankles. The remaining dogs scattered now, to no avail. The Monger and his pet? Set adrift in the dusty air and being yanked (feetfirst, likely) into the creature's gaping rows of metal grinders, they made contact long enough to Combine. This did very little at first, but on the plus, now they had four arms as opposed to four clawed legs and the Monger's mismatched pair. As they drew closer, Terrorbite holding one of the Destronger carcasses in what was now the lower left arm, the Combiner brought it forward... at speeds necessary to break the sound barrier, like a more conventional whip. Countering and escaping the creature's air current, the carcass whip found its home in the giant's eye, breaking its concentration and permitting it to release a roar that was for all intents and purposes a massive exhalation. The Autobot Gestalt landed swiftly, but hard. Dirt and the crumbled remains of road were kicked up.

The remaining Destrongers, which here were now somehow six in total, all launched themselves at once. With the upper right arm raised to shield it the Autobot Combiner fended off one's attack while catching another by the throat and launching it at a third. The two remaining arms were used to swing at the dogs, and made contact with at least two. At least one of them would never be able to shut its mouth again. The final Destronger sunk its teeth into the Combiner's leg, and as they had done to Devastator II, their shared concentration was broken. Now Terrorbite and the Monger Blitzkaiser fell apart. The latter was where the six dogs would flock. One was already munching on his attacked leg and he screamed wildly, more out of a rush than out of pain. With his mangled club he batted one away, and Terrorbite bit into the one with the permanently dislocated jaw.

The monster Devastator II managed another step forward. Closer now so that it rattled things into the air, this granted the Monger the chance to catch a dog beneath him and crush it using his own body weight. With that matter set aside, the duo of Monger and Destronger turned their three eyes towards the monster now looming above them. Limping to his feet, the Monger hobbled forward, hoping to gain momentum to run but buckling under himself. Now he tried to Transform. He was halfway to vehicle form when his injured leg refused to separate and he was forced to return to his bipedal form.

Terrorbite Transformed now, slowly, and with some struggle. Understanding quickly, the Monger lowered himself on top of the much smaller Cosmic Countach and together they made their way forward, under the creature.

Starscream was angry, and firing now. But from where he was, the Monger was underneath Devastator, and every frustrated shot only hurt the beast, although it neither knew nor cared. Good thing too, because the Monger was also slow finding a suitable handhold to grip on. The Gestalt stopped now and turned around, seeking to find the insect which had crawled onto it. Terrorbite wheeled away, eventually into range of the Decepticon Gestalt's six eyes. It saw what could easily pass for an intruder, and followed accordingly. Back in the direction the Monger needed to go. He would not get far, but this battle needed to move in the right direction.

"No! No!" Starscream yelled angrily. He Transformed and suddenly glided under the belly of the beast. He got a lock on the Monger and began to fire, forgetting Terrorbite long enough for the dog to Transform and leap upon him. The commander had a wing clipped and he fell with substantial force to knock him offline. The dog jumped off his lifeless - and now maimed - jet body, and repositioned himself as Devastator's quarry.

But now the creature had its front leg/arm raised to take a step, and the dog was caught. Thankfully it only crushed his _back half_ with a very unceremonious amplified popping plastic sound, and its leg stayed there. The Monger saw all this and suddenly thought again of that little girl, Aika. No time to think now, just hang on... and do your job.

The Gestalt took another step, and he hauled himself up onto the monster's back. With no hesitation he held on for dear life with his good hand, and started to club away, smashing what was probably part of the longbed truck. The creature did not take kindly to this, and tried to stoop to pluck him from its underbelly. It failed, losing a whole limb to balance on, and it toppled to one side helplessly, rolling onto its back. Surprising, what a well-placed runt of a Monger can do. Roaring the whole way down, Devastator hit the ground hard; and without a proper grip, the Monger Blitzkaiser was thrown a good hundred feet across flat land. He could not get any part of himself to catch on anything, at least until he hit a sign. Trying and failing once to get up, he found himself reading it as in the distance, Devastator II was disengaging.

_"More Than Meets the Eye."_

Realizing now was his chance, he brought his fist down onto his leg, smashing it back into place just enough. He purged himself completely of his trailer, and stumbled into a Transformation. The red and blue cab burned rubber against powdered concrete as behind him, the inhuman components of the otherworldly Devastator did the same.

* * *

* * *

He had to deal with Destrongers only once. Transforming with a liberating speed as his trailer was no longer a hindrance, he leapt with the dogs, and used one to break his fall as he slammed into another. Without much of his strength to end them more swiftly, one of the dogs tore into his torso, but it was merely a mesh wound. He slammed them into one another now, and while one was offline he slammed the other's head against the ground until it was a pile of parts. Now he grabbed the other as its processors realigned, slicing his hands but breaking off the creature's jaw cleanly, and bludgeoning it exactly twice before it fell over and shattered back into its car form. Now his 'own' hands were mangled. That was a problem.

He drove on, already hearing the Decepticons' engines roaring and cackling behind him. Pay no attention to them. Focus on racing forward. Trackers were far from another sense, but he knew he was approaching, and approaching fast. Now he knew to move quickly, and without the weight of himself, he had less trouble getting past a whopping 150 mph. He arrived within two minutes. Too slow.

There were more Destrongers to greet him, and the one-eyed Trainer. They did not attack him. But they did obscure his view of the prize completely. He looked up and saw Starscream's throne atop the skyscraper.

"I expected you to stop me. I killed your dogs."

"They will not, and I will not, either. We will simply wait." At that, the Monger's threshold for interference was obviously eroded. The dogs jumped, but he was upon the Trainer, and this was why he had not battled. Now he crumpled and was offlined, likely not by his hand. And as of now, he did not even have the time to kill him. With their master seemingly out of the picture, the dogs backed away, and the Monger Blitzkaiser knew the instant he saw it what the Trainer had meant.

It was a pod. Protoform inside, likely useless to anyone, even more likely to be an Autobot. Holding a whole new life inside. It had proven useless to the Decepticons and was not even worth the bother of getting an Autobot to unlock. He had done this before, too.

Reaching out with his left hand, he touched the featureless metal egg, and it released a web of lasers, scanning him curiously. _Confirm Autobot._

And then he hauled it up in his arms, struggling a bit with the weight. Just when he needed it. But it was not a Monger's job to complain.

Behind him, the Decepticons were closing in. He would need to deal with them, and quickly. What was around him? The Seeker's throne building, flat land for at least fifty miles in all directions. Mongers worked with anything. He would work with this.

Climb building, make getaway around them? Unlikely, but the Decepticons' loose ends had all been tied by flattening the land. And with the pod in hand, climbing would be difficult, and he could land in the middle of all of them. Possible still, the building would not support his weight. Never mind all, he would have to go through. Mongers are known for their strength.

As the construction vehicles gained, he ran towards the building. Behind him they were chittering in the language of their last homeworld. They had no problem facing one average-sized Autobot. They were already preparing to swarm him, crush him forever under wheeled and jackhammer feet.

Not hoping to find height bug to find length, however, the Monger climbed only one storey and pushed off - and out. He slammed with full force into the crowd, armored pod held in front, plowing through them as they did not expect. But they adapted quickly enough. He didn't even get through when they were already hounding him, and the pod was torn from his grasp. He Transformed, catching them mostly offguard, and as his humanoid form had plowed into them, the long-nosed cab plowed out of them. He rolled out of his truck form to scoop up the pod where it had fallen when he saw Starscream overhead. His triangular body was missing one arm, and he fluttered and sputtered about. He was angry.

"Monger Blitzkaiser! I will address you in the disgusting native tongue of this world again! Your pathetic attempt at reviving the Autobots ends here! I, Starscream-sama, will grant you a chance for an honorable death befitting a Monger!" Instead, the Monger Blitzkaiser responded by simply running on, faster than he expected, and clipping the pod to his clenched and disfigured right hand. It should survive his Transformation. He jumped and hit the ground again as a truck, and simply sped on. The pod seemed to have held. Another advantage to being in this smaller form.

He had no choice but to continue to race on. And faster now than ever before, on this world, or the last, or any world before it. He was here now, and he was still a Monger. And yes, he was drilling that back into himself. He would not forget it.

The Destrongers were behind him now, and overhead the unbalanced Starscream struggled to get a bead on his target. Damn that traitor Destronger!

The Monger had gotten to the place where the first battle with Devastator had taken place. Here he inherited the ability he had sought in Boto Bouken, and knew deep within himself to Transform. Only thirty feet in front of him was the crippled Destronger dog whose alternate form of this world was a solid blue 1982 Cosmic Countach. Terrorbite looked up to him with pain unlike any other in his eye. He'd had his Aika's leg stolen away. And he would suffer more.

But with his still-functional front legs, the dog offered the Monger something that he had stolen away from another: Starscream's arm, arm cannon still attached. The Monger smiled in pain and sadness at the dog.

"One last time." The dog nodded in understanding.

It was not just the Destronger's new abilities that had allowed the two to combine: it was the Monger as well; as the Decepticons closed in eagerly, the Monger Blitzkaiser would change yet again.

* * *

Removing the pod from his hand he laid it down, and knelt to take the dog and his offering. Absorbing them into himself, he became a multicolored metallic cloud. Good thing the mangled dog, the maimed alien limb and the injured Autobot cab were all color-coordinated. The Monger had earned his title with this skill, and he would earn it again; a Monger uses what they have, no exceptions. The trailer was a temporary assistant in the end, just like everything else.

A four-armed hulk like an upright scorpion would face the unworldly Decepticons as the guardian of this one, and fired Starscream's own tail into the Decepticons. Enraged at this cannibalization, Starscream swooped unevenly to the Monger's level and was knocked down. He surrendered and feigned death to crawl away when none were looking.

Meanwhile the Monger Gestalt faced the monster Devastator, which had begun to combine again. With the pooled strength from three very different sources, sprinted into them. Everything was a mess. Shoot to one, kick to two others, clank two more's together. One component dropped with his limbs being wielded by separate sets of arms. One gone was all it would take. But he continued, eventually knocking them all over long enough to run. He snatched the pod, and with his mangled right hand continued to cradle it. Keep running, keep yourself and all your parts together. Your job is almost done.

In the end it was too much. He fell, an exhausted and malformed mess, spilling the Destronger and detached arm as he continued to cradle the protoform pod. Forget his companion, forget himself, the pod would be all that mattered in the end.

"Get away while you can," he offered the dog futilely. Now he was more honest. "I don't want you to stay. Get away however you can."

He winked, and shook his head. _No moving for me._ The Monger turned to look back at the remaining advance. They were relaxing a bit. He would give them fury. So too would the Destronger by his side.

"You will be my weapon. Do you understand?" The Destronger nodded now, and the Monger summoned pistons and engines from his vehicle mode like fresh muscle, taking up the battered and wounded dog. He threw the creature, and threw fast. With the last of his energy the dog tore off one of the Decepticons' heads before collapsing, completely spent and lifeless.

And with the last of his energy, the Monger Blitzkaiser made a wall of himself in stance, guarding the pod with himself. He still had the Seeker's cannon arm; a final gift, and he blended it into his own arm. Struggling to lift it, he propped up one arm on the other, and began firing madly into the Decepticon ranks.

He fell.

And so did they. The Monger had done his job.


	9. Where Some Say it All Started

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The damage is done. Now, the aftermath.

The Destrongers had stopped coming. Knowing what this meant, the Autobots proceeded more slowly now. They passed the place where the Tank had been buried, and countless Destrongers. There were a couple Decepticons, far more human-looking than anyone would have liked, spread out too. All of them had been executed quite violently; the only way a Monger can ever work.

"Your guy did all this?" Duke asked. Prowl let it simmer for a moment before answering.

"It's his job. I'm surprised there's still buildings upright on this island at all."

"_Holy damn_!" another G.I remarked, looking out. His laser rifle continued to hang out the back window, but he knew he would find nothing. The siege of Japan was over.

The single futuristic and augmented car that was the Autobot Prowl continued to roll on, his occupants having only the silence to pass the time. Just like the Monger and the Boto family, they would remain this way for most of the drive, and the way back.

Now they passed the defaced Decepticon insignia scorched and scratched into the ground. The charred black of it had been smudged and torn up. Duke requested that the Autobot police car stop, and ordered his men to exit. Prowl got the idea.

They would deface even further - and then reface - the insignia. But the work of tyrannical art was now a sign of victory visible from space: the stoic and benevolent face of the Autobot insignia, burned into the ground with plasma and laser rifles.

They continued on, and within an hour they found the place where the Monger had made his last stand. Scattered around him were the remaining components of the hideous mammoth Devastator. Again, they exited the vehicle and Prowl Transformed to examine them. The Monger had been shot to bits, and was definitely dead. He was laying in front of some sort of pod, and Prowl made his way over to stand by it.

"This is it: our objective," he said, and left it at that. Meanwhile the human soldiers were scattering to examine the Monger's handiwork. One of them at least was still alive, and twitched its arm.

"He missed one." Duke was already readying his rifle when Prowl raised a hand and called out.

"No. We have other options. We spare them until further notice." Duke gazed to the giant sprawled out before him, trying to see if it had eyes. He could see definitely that it had parts of a shovel on it, that it was huge, and that the single Monger had put up a good fight.

"I have Destrongers alive too!" The gunner G.I called out. "Them as well?"

"Yes." Prowl nodded. "For now we keep them all alive." The white Autobot walked over to the massive shovel Duke had almost executed. Placing one foot on what was perhaps the thing's chest, he leaned in close and dropped his head to meet the monster's own. Duke was watching, and could see it now. Vaguely insect-like, pincer jaws, multiple eyes. One massive lopsided tire began to turn above it head.

"You're ours now. Understand?" It gave a blink, then corrected itself and nodded. "Good. We will return for you later." He suddenly stood up again, removing his foot and walking back to the massive silver egg. "We take this and rendezvous with the others. After that we'll return for our Monger's remains and whatever Decepticons and Destrongers are still alive." He picked it up and carried it in his arms, exactly as the Monger Blitzkaiser had in his basest form.

"Kind of a new experience," Duke commented to no one in particular, and to everyone. "We come here, guns blazing, alongside shapeshifting giant alien robots, and when we finally get here the job's already done." No one responded; they were thinking the same thing. And Prowl was finding himself wondering how this experience was new to them. After all this time, their Monger had finally died. There were likely no more Mongers; all gone in their time spent in waiting.

And they drove away with even less fanfare. Prowl fastened the massive egg to himself and Transformed (exactly as the Monger had), and began crawling away slowly. Grimlock or another would meet them in a few hours. Until then, back to the silence. But now their work was almost done. Duke wondered if walking would be a bad alternative, seeing how slow the Autobot leader was moving.

"Were you expecting this?" Another soldier asked Prowl. His radio turned on, and he spoke.

"No." Suddenly Duke thought of the police car adding, '_I was expecting far less_'. Or maybe much more, but it was better to be glad the cup was _only _half empty. Their mission was done for now, but...

No, it wasn't. There would be more. Much more to come. And it seemed none of them had any idea what that would be. The egg hooked to his roof like a bloated family suitcase was what much more would look like: hidden, abstract, dangerous.

Their trudging speed was agonizing, but just when all seemed lost their very own Gojira-san intercepted them. "Over; finished," he'd commented morosely. Sarcasm?

* * *

* * *

Aika was not far from bleeding out - in fact, she _was_ bleeding out, and every moment was another spent in suffering for everyone. A tourniquet was the only viable option, and that's what they did, but for some reason it just wasn't working. She cried the whole time, and no doubt the strain on her throat was so painful she just wanted to cry out even more. And yes, they had made it to the hospital not long after the Monger had left them, but never soon enough, it seemed.

Hiroyuki and Booken were the silent ones now, Booken laying a hand on her daughter's head in the most futile gesture of comfort, her husband examining the bandage dyed entirely crimson. They were no experts on infection, but it was most definitely not sterile. The belt strapped down tight on her thigh was more likely sterile than the gauze over the wound. Care to lose more than just a silly little leg? What were they doing so wrong?

Well, what _had_ they done so wrong, from the beginning of all this? Booken wondered. Her husband might just have been right. The tourists she thought had missed the point of the visitors might just have been right. And her uncle whose obsession surpassed her own, and it had claimed his life? He'd been rightest of all. This is where her own decisions had brought her; she and she alone!

"This is all my fault," she cut through her daughter's screams to her husband. And salty moisture dropped to Aika's chest.

"No, it isn't," her husband responded. One of them would always be at a low when the other was in an even mind, it seemed, and she hated it. "This happened exactly how it was going to happen, and that's not going to change. What matters is keeping our daughter alive." Understanding just enough to realize it wasn't worth the trouble, she nodded. "Can you find something else to wrap around her leg?"

She nodded again and started walking. Hearing it before it made a sound, Booken suddenly stepped back to her family as engines approached them. Time to hide again. Booken knew to stop screaming and let her father carry her.

Without many better options, the three found a closet and piled in. Hiroyuki's torn and dusty pants and shirt were matted with blood, but all of them remained silent, and Booken held the door shut. Were there aliens of their own size, which would stroll through the halls and murder them where they crouched; or would a giant dwarfing the Monger Blitzkaiser simply slam the building into oblivion? Maybe.

* * *

Skids and Perceptor came to a halt on Colton's command, outside some building that had its identity shaken from it. With the same intuition that Bouken and the late Blitzkaiser had summoned, he got out, and his team followed.

There had been screaming, coming through an open window, and Colton knew this was the place.

"They're very likely Japanese. They might not understand you," Perceptor cautioned.

"They'll understand we're here to help." They had to, or else.

"Second floor," Skids added. "You can tell, but you should know that." Colton nodded only to show he had heard him.

They climbed the stairs with a level of silence that started to spook even the stoic G.I Joe Colton. Somehow the stairwell didn't even creak under their weight. As a force of military habit, his gun remained in his arms. He was not the only one. That would be a bad way to introduce themselves.

Second floor. It was a bit dark, but that was no surprise. And their own suits emanated all the light they would ever need. It seemed to cast itself everywhere, and it came from everywhere. Kind of nauseating.

They spread out, opening all the doors, peering behind all the curtains, blurred into white-light clouds holding the weapons of the future. Unsurprisingly, Colton was the one to find the closet.

Cautiously, he opened the remains of the door. Inside, he found what you'd expect: three tightly-huddled, worn and haggard Japanese. Two parents and a child; the child was bleeding out from a hole where a lower leg used to be.

"Contact!" He called out, and remembered to drop his gun. He brought his arms up, away from his weapon, no harm here.

"I'm not here to hurt you," he said. They would not understand his words, but with that curiosity and its extensions that both Joe Colton and Boto Booken possessed, the universal greeting was reinforced to its fullest. Such a small task, but Booken's gift would make itself scarcer from now on, probably forever. Outlived its usefulness. But it was useful here. Booken turned to her husband and nodded.

"I'm here to get you out of here." They did not understand that part, but the mother came first. He was not surprised.

The two Autobots outside were surprised that this was worth the stop, but not that it had been what Colton had stopped them for. Some treasure.

* * *

* * *

* * *

Time passed, as time does. The return trip was silent and took time, as you didn't need to be told.

Booken watched as it happened. So did Colton, and Duke, and Abernathy. So did Prowl, Skids, Perceptor, Grimlock. This treasure chest needed to be opened, now. That would be closure for her and so many others.

She knew what was inside, as everyone did, but you never know till you see it. They were about to crack it open, after all this time. Prowl revealed a control panel none of them had seen before, and punched in a sequence. He looked surprised for a moment; the Monger had already done part of that. The important part.

It cracked open with a little puff of steam, no doubt a change in internal pressure. She knew that the protoform (yes, that was the word) inside was carefully preserved, exactly as humans were. The metal shell fell to the ground in so many pieces, useless and spent. The cloud lingered for a moment, and Booken's imagination ran a bit wild with what was inside. A shimmering silver slimeball waiting to take shape? That seemed most likely.

But that wasn't what it was. Colton had shown her the Monger's remains. The slimeball looked far too much like the giant... but it was smaller, the trailer was missing, it was hunched into a ball. But the colors were the same, the proportions were the same. This was the Monger as he had not let himself be seen to her, but exactly how the protoform had seen him.

"This isn't right," she muttered to Colton. "He looks like the Monger." Some language lessons permitted understanding, and he was not surprised. The protoform stood up. The wheels on its legs and back were rotating freely, the way you might drum your fingers or tap your foot in anticipation.

Prowl approached with his hands up. He had no idea how much this protoform could understand.

"You're safe," he tried to say, but the protoform was prepared for violence, and charged the Autobot leader. Every gun on base was suddenly trained on the newborn, and they would not fire bullets. "Hold your fire!" Prowl called out, and the protoform leaned in close. In further confirmation that he had been born ready for combat, a faceplate slid in from both sides and would mask his face. Only his blue eyes remained visible, and they were narrowed, murder glowing in them if the prize was to really be survival.

"Autobot!" Booken called out, and the feral shapeshifter turned those blue eyes to the human woman. Her arms were up too. Exactly as the Monger Blitzkaiser and Joe Colton had done to her, she would do the same for the one who looked like her rescuer. And he understood. He returned to his feet, and the faceplate dropped. His eyes widened, and he nodded to Booken, then back to Prowl. Reciprocating the gesture, he raised his own arms.

He was looking around now, eyes seeming to reach from their sockets. A ribbon examined everything straight ahead, the extension of his gaze. They passed through first some humans, then the hangar, then farther... He was looking for something. He didn't know what.

Until he found it. Those eyes settled, and narrowed in. The four Autobots had never seen this before.

The protoform began to change. The many panels of the robot's skin began to fold and collapse. So too did the body they comprised. He fell, folded, into a shape that shifted with insanity and every passing moment. And then...

He took a new shape. A vehicle form, deviant from the Monger, yet somehow enforcing it. Had he truly chosen a vehicle of this world, this is what he would have chosen. And a trailer with it, certainly. But no, it was just a short-nosed Peterbilt. Red and blue, bits of silver and yellow here and there. If you recognize these things, you will understand the importance of everything that led to this. The ring with the golden horns had observed it closely, but it was weak. It had no control. Cosmo Countach was seeking a leader, unknowingly to destroy it. And the invasion force that followed? To sway the protoform to their control. That war that had already been lost could still turn. And it just might.

That was the score. And the Autobot insignia visible from space? The Emperor would see it. All that needed to happen now was for the war to start, on this world. Japan was the beginning, and it was the end. The Mongers were gone now, as were most of the Autobots. The Decepticons were in power far beyond this world; it was insignificant in every way. Too simple and too malnourished to retrieve anything from, its inhabitants too fragile to be slaves, the world itself too small to be any sort of outpost. The only thing of significance was that pod, they knew nothing of the ring with the golden horns. And very likely they would never know. They didn't even think much of the supposed clairvoyants of this world. The protoform had been an afterthought in the grand scheme of things, and this world would be squashed with little thought, newborn Prime or no newborn Prime. There would be no winning this war. But... why do humans fear? It's a reflex, meant to make humans fight harder or fly faster. And the Autobots that had assimilated this world? They felt fear too. Fighting chance? Maybe, just maybe.

_The year is 1984, and the world is changed forever._

* * *

* * *

** _The Transformers will return._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (G1 Season 3 closing credits intensifies...)
> 
> More soon! :-{ )

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fanfic I've ever finished, originally written over a month and a half in my sophomore year of high school after binge-reading TFWiki. It started out as an idea parodying the Bay movies (which I admittedly enjoy greatly; they were what introduced me to Transformers when I was four or five, after all), but I guess it became less satire and more its own thing, which then evolved into the Adapto Sapiens series. Should be more coming soon, except I haven't finished the second entry yet. Soon, I tell ya!
> 
> Have a nice day.
> 
> (P.S.: "Booken" or is most definitely not a real Japanese name. A little bit of playing around on Google Translate yields some interesting trains of thought.)


End file.
